


call my bluff, call you babe

by hyruling



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Blow Jobs, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Richie Tozier Cries During Sex, Stanley Uris Lives, excessive use of 'baby', lots of talking during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:42:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyruling/pseuds/hyruling
Summary: "Why can’t I ask Bill?”“Because— he’s basically a celebrity too. That’s just. It’s already weird enough to people that you two even know each other, pretending to be romantically involved is just opening up a whole can of worms. I’m outside.”“‘Romantically involved’, when did you start writing for The Sun, Eds,” Richie teases with a chuckle, just as Eddie reaches the final turn down Richie’s hallway. “That doesn’t really… I mean, people know we were friends when we were kids, so—”“Just pretend to be my date,” Eddie says, and—And nearly throws his phone into the fucking wall.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 218
Kudos: 1388





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> richie and eddie fake dating? for ben and bev's wedding? groundbreaking. 
> 
> title from 'its nice to have a friend' by miss swift. figured i'd shorten the usual forty character lyric title a little this time :)

"I hate my fucking publicist.” 

Eddie sighs and flips on his turn signal to alert the drivers around him to the stupid U-turn he’s about to make. He was almost home too. 

“I’m on my way,” Eddie tells him. “What did he do now?” 

“He's _insisting_ I bring a date to Bev’s wedding,” Richie explains. Eddie can picture him pacing around his apartment, the way he does when he’s upset or reworking his standup, wearing holes in the carpet if he’s not careful. “It’s some PR bullshit, and I told him Bevvie’s wedding isn’t a fucking _stunt,_ to which he responded with that stupid LA answer, ‘ _everything_ is a stunt, Richie, and Beverly Marsh’s wedding is going to be the highlight of the spring, and we should take advantage of your close friendship with her and the opportunity to prove to those _assholes_ on Twitter that you're actually fucking gay—‘”

“Okay, Rich, breathe,” Eddie says as calmly as he can manage, hands clenching around the wheel. He bites his tongue to keep from going off about the fucking Twitter homophobes with him again. “That’s shitty, okay, but it’s not the end of the world.” 

“Yes it _is_ ,” Richie seethes. “The whole fucking point of coming out was to stop fucking lying, and he doesn’t— fuck. I need a drink.” 

Eddie swerves around someone going thirty in a forty-five, throwing up an exasperated hand in the rearview. “Okay, so. I mean, are you going to do it?” 

“You know I am,” Richie says morosely. “Like as much as I hate it, he’s _right_ , it might finally shut up the fucking neckbeards who are clinging to my heterosexuality more tightly than my grandmother, god rest her vaguely homophobic soul.” 

Eddie’s knuckles turn white as he braces himself for the next question. “Do you know who you’re going to ask?”

Richie chuckles. “Not a clue. No one wants to ride the Tozier Train. Hey, Bill’s going stag, maybe he would—”

“Richie, _no_ ,” Eddie says, using the gate key Richie gave him to let himself into Richie’s swanky gated complex. He swings into a parking spot without bothering to straighten up. “I just parked, buzz me in.” 

He hears Richie shuffle around to do so as he climbs out of the car. “You didn’t have to come over.”

“Yeah, I did. You’re going to ruin your fucking carpet, I’ve told you.” 

“Whatever. I’ll get hardwood. Why can’t I ask Bill?” 

Eddie swallows and stumbles on a step; he just barely catches himself before he tumbles down the stairs. He rights himself and manages to reach the landing without falling on his face. “Because— he’s basically a celebrity too. That’s just. It’s already weird enough to people that you two even know each other, pretending to be romantically involved is just opening up a whole can of worms. I’m outside.”

“‘Romantically involved’, when did you start writing for The Sun, Eds,” Richie teases with a chuckle, just as Eddie reaches the final turn down Richie’s hallway. “That doesn’t really… I mean, people know we were friends when we were kids, so—”

“Just pretend to be my date,” Eddie says, and—

And nearly throws his phone into the fucking wall. 

Richie opens the door, hand holding his phone slowly falling from his ear, and gapes down at Eddie on his doorstep. 

“Did you just ask me out?” Richie says dazedly. Eddie’s cheeks burn. 

“I said _pretend,”_ Eddie says. Richie grins anyway, pocketing his phone. Eddie steps around him and Richie lets him, tracking his every move. 

“Oh Eddie Spaghetti, I don’t know what to _say,”_ Richie croons. He splays a hand over his heart dramatically, falling back against the door with a thud. “This is so _unexpected—_ ” 

“I take it back.” 

“Oh no, you can’t. That would break my fragile little heart, Eddie baby.” 

“Then stop being a fucking idiot and give me an answer.” 

Richie straightens, and his hand drops to grip at the door jam. “Wait. You’re serious?” 

“Of course I’m serious, dumbass,” Eddie says, and he will _not_ fucking blush right now. He won’t. “It’s not like I have a date anyway.” 

“Yeah but, you could _get_ a date,” Richie says slowly. “And I don’t want to… like, you should go with who you want, Eds.” 

“I want to go with you,” Eddie says. 

Richie’s whole face flushes. Holy fucking _shit_ what is wrong with him today?

“You, uh. You do?” Richie croaks. 

“Yeah. You know… I wanna help.” 

Richie’s jaw clenches, hard. “Right, uh. Okay then.” 

“Yeah?” Eddie says, corners of his mouth twisting in a grin. 

“Yeah. Yes. Let’s fake date the shit out of this.” 

* * *

There are many occasions in the weeks leading up to Ben and Bev’s wedding that Richie thinks that this idea was perhaps… ill advised. 

The first is when Eddie calls him out of the blue at midnight about ten days after agreeing to this charade. It’s not uncommon for Eddie to call him this late, when his insomnia gets the best of him and he needs Richie to soothe him to sleep. (Richie’s words, not his. But it’s true no matter what Eddie says). 

Usually Eddie isn’t in quite so much of a panic about it though. 

“What are you wearing?” Eddie asks when Richie picks up, very matter of fact and not at all sexy, but fuck if it doesn’t still make him feel some type of way. 

“Woah, uh… nothing at all baby, what are _you_ wearing?”

“For fucks— I mean to the wedding, dumbass.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that? It’s almost one am and you ask what I’m wearing, of course I’m gonna think it’s a booty call.”

“Just answer the question,” Eddie says in an exasperated voice. 

“I don’t know, Bev picked it out. Why?”

“Well, shouldn’t we wear matching suits?” 

Richie barks out a laugh. “What is this, prom? I don’t think adults do that.”

“Fuck you yes they do,” Eddie snaps. “Patty and Stan are wearing yellow—“

“How do you _know_ that?” 

“Because I asked them numbnuts! This whole fucking thing is about image, right? What kind of image are you presenting if we show up as a couple wearing clashing outfits?” 

Richie opens his mouth, closes it. Eddie might have a point. And Bev has more than once threatened to revoke his gay card on account of his fashion choices, so really having Eddie take the lead on this is probably not the worst idea. 

“Uh, okay. Fair enough. My fitting is Thursday, if you wanna—“ 

“I’m coming with you. Tell Bev I need a matching suit.” 

“I— okay,” Richie says, wincing at the hesitation in his own voice. 

Eddie is quiet for a moment. “Rich? You’ve told her I’m your date right?”

“When you say ‘told her’—“

“Richie! What the fuck dude, it’s been two weeks!”

“I _know,_ I‘m sorry, I just. I didn’t wanna make it into a whole _thing.”_

“And it would be _less_ of a ‘thing’ if we just showed up together without a heads up? Seriously?” 

_Yep. Because she wouldn’t dare give me shit in front of you._

“Okay, I see your point. I’ll tell her tomorrow. And get your suit.” 

“Good. Text me the details for the fitting.” 

“Right-o cap’n,” Richie quips, saluting before he remembers Eddie can’t see him. 

Eddie snorts anyway. “Night, Richie.” 

“ _Morning_ Eds,” Richie corrects. 

“God you’re so annoying,” Eddie says before hanging up. 

**↣↢**

And thus, along came the second clue that this was one of the worst ideas of his life. 

“You’re kidding me.” 

“Beverly, please. I have never been anything but serious and professional, in every aspect of my life, how dare you accuse me of frivolity at a time like this—“

“Can it, Trashmouth,” she interrupts. Richie can hear Ben snickering in the background. “You’re bringing Eddie to my wedding. As a _date._ ”

“Yeah, okay, but you’re leaving out the crucial part—“

“No, I heard the ‘crucial part’. That doesn’t make it sound _better_ , you dumbass.” 

“It’s fine, Bev, really. We’ll take a few pictures, leak them to the press, and it’ll all be over.”

“Bullshit. It’s not gonna be that simple and you know it.”

“Yes it _is._ Don’t worry your pretty little head—“

“Rich, honey, I’m sorry but you’re not thinking this through. What happens after the wedding? Are you going to keep it up? If you break it off immediately that screams fake and you know it.” 

Fuck. He hadn’t actually thought about that. 

“I— we’ll— I’ll just say I’m a private person and tell everyone to fuck off.”

“Be serious, Rich. It doesn't work that way. If this gets you even a little positive press, Rob is gonna be all over you to keep it going.” 

Richie fiddles with the pen he’s holding, twirling it round and round in his fingers. Anxiety snakes its way under his skin and coils tight in his gut. He’d already been overthinking the shit out of the wedding itself, adding this to the list of Things To Be Anxious About just seems excessively cruel.

“Well fuck me Marsh, you got me. I… perhaps didn’t think this all the way through,” he admits, and she sighs sadly. 

“I just don’t want you getting hurt. Or Eddie.”

“It’ll be fine, Bev,” Richie assures her, confidently enough that it almost feels like the truth. “I’ve already spent thirty years pining, I can handle another few months.” 

“Richie,” she says softly, and _fuck_. It’s not like Bev didn’t already know, because other than Stan and Eddie himself, she probably knows him better than anyone. But he’s never said it quite so explicitly before, and never put a timestamp on it like that. 

“It’s alright Bevvie. You just focus on getting married, leave my stupid romantic woes to me.”

“You could tell him, you know,” Bev says quietly.

“That might be the worst idea you’ve ever had. No, in fact, I’ve run the numbers and it _is_ the worst. Thanks for playing.”

Bev doesn’t laugh. “I mean it, Richie. Why not?”

“Uh, several reasons. Number one, he’s straight. Number two, he’s so freshly divorced he’s still finding random shirts of Myra’s in his closet. Number three, he’s been in LA less than two months, and it’s been so—“

His voice cracks, and he cuts himself off before he does something really embarrassing like _cry_. He's done enough of that over the last ten months, thank you very much. 

Bev is quiet, waiting for him to collect himself patiently. 

“I almost— _we_ almost lost him, Bev. I’m not risking it again because of my dumb feelings.” 

“You wouldn’t lose him, Richie,” Bev says. “You know you wouldn’t.”

“Do I? Honestly. I mean, yeah, of course he wouldn’t like, storm out and never speak to me again, but it wouldn’t be the same. It would be weird every time we saw each other, you know it would, and that would eventually kill the friendship just as effectively as if he shunned me.”

“I think you’re underestimating how deep the bond from killing a space clown together goes,” Bev says, and he can hear the smile in her voice. 

“Maybe so. Not worth the risk though.” 

Bev sighs. He wonders if Ben is there, listening in and making his sad puppy face. 

“Okay, Rich, I’ll support you even if I think you’re being dumb. But I want you to do me a favor, and really think about why Eddie chose to move to LA when he divorced Myra.”

“Easy. He fits in perfectly with all the freaks that don’t eat gluten or dairy, and he’s three thousand miles away from her.” 

“Okay. Now tell me where you two went out to eat last week?”

“We uh,” Richie says, thinking back. “Oh, it was some Italian place—“

And even as he says it, he understands her point. Eddie hasn’t been keeping to his restrictive diet since Derry, a fact he’s just now realizing. Eddie had the fettuccine alfredo last week and literally cleaned his plate; Richie even teased him about it and didn't make the connection. 

“Okay, point taken. But he probably just wanted a familiar face in his new city.”

“He has familiar faces all across the country now.”

“Yeah but here he has me _and_ Bill—“

“Who’s been in New York for six months on his book tour. The entire time Eddie’s been in LA.”

“Alright, Marsh, get out of here with your fucking logic,” Richie says, but there’s no heat behind it. Beverly laughs. 

“Just think about it, Rich. Okay?”

“No promises. Send me whatever I need for Eddie’s suit.”

“I’ll take care of it. Love you dumbass.”

“You too Bevvie. Give Haystack a big fat kiss on the mouth from me.”

“You got it.” 

**↣↢**

**Richie** : hey stanny  
 **Richie** : do u think me and eds going to benvers wedding together is weird

 **Stan the Man** : Weird how?  
 **Stan the Man** : Everything you two do is weird. Need clarification 

**Richie** : i mean we’re going together for a PR stunt thanks to my dumbass publicist

 **Stan the Man** : Not weird but extremely stupid.   
**Stan the Man** : Also don’t call it “benvers” wedding

 **Richie:** that seems to b the consensus   
**Richie:** #benvers  
 **Richie:** #marshyougladyoumarriedhanscom   
**Richie** : #handsomehanscomgothishandsonmarsh

 **Stan the Man** : Please delete my number.   
**Stan the Man** : Make sure you send those to Bev though.

 **Richie** : already done staniel

* * *

Eddie likes his new job in LA. He really does. He has more responsibility at his new company, more people working for him to help with the heavier workload, and he actually gets along fairly well with them. His bosses are capable and treat their employees well, so overall it’s a good gig. 

The problem is the commute. In New York he was one subway stop away from his office. He didn’t _take_ the subway, of course, but it was still only a twenty minute drive on a bad day. He knew moving here that traffic was a nightmare, but he figured after New York, it would be a breeze. He thought he could handle anything LA could throw at him. 

He was wrong. 

As such, he shows up to the fitting appointment on Thursday thirty minutes late, live texting Richie his road rage when he gets stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for the third time. Richie tells him to calm down before he has an aneurysm, and assures him that the tailor is chill and will get started on Richie’s fitting until he gets there.

He rushes in at 5:40 and is directed to the private dressing room in the back. Richie hollers at him to come on in when he knocks.

He wishes he was later than thirty minutes. 

Richie looks… good. _Stupid_ good. Granted, his jacket and pants are full of pins holding the fabric together where it needs adjusting, making the back look awkward and clumpy. But from where Eddie’s standing, watching Richie watch himself in the reflection of the full length mirror… it works. Really well.

“Hey Eds!” Richie greets him, completing the image by smiling softly at him. _Fuck_ his life.

“Hey,” Eddie says, trying to sound normal. He steps further into the room, hugging the wall as if distance is going to resolve the sudden urge to jump his best friend's bones. 

“What do you think?” Richie asks, dislodging the tailor mid-measure to lift his arms. 

It’s a simple, fitted grey suit with a maroon patterned shirt. Only Bev picked it out instead of Richie, so it’s fashionable and significantly toned down from his usual exuberant choices. The look is tied together with a simple black vest and tie. 

“Well it beats your ‘fancy’ Hawaiian dress shirt, that’s for sure,” Eddie says, voice a little hoarse. 

“Hey, I wore that to last year's Comedy Awards!” Richie protests. “Tell him, Marty.”

Marty doesn’t even look up from measuring Richie’s shoulders. His _broad_ shoulders, what the fuck were they so big for? “It was certainly a bold choice, Mr. Tozier.”

“Yeah, one that got you voted worst dressed,” Eddie says. 

“And why do you know that, Eduardo?” Richie asks with a wink. 

Eddie is saved by Marty’s assistant interrupting with a handful of fabric that Eddie assumes is his suit. He’s offered a bottle of water and he takes it gratefully, guzzling it down alarmingly fast as Richie starts to peel off the layers of his suit and redress in his regular clothes. 

When Richie is dressed again Eddie feels like he can finally breathe. It’s much easier to ignore his ridiculous crush when Richie is wearing baggy jeans and a “Shrek Daddy” t-shirt. 

“Your turn Eds,” Richie says, ushering him in front of the mirror and taking Eddie’s seat. 

Eddie’s fitting takes about thirty minutes total. Bev chose a black suit for Eddie, with a plain grey dress shirt to match Richie’s suit and maroon tie. Eddie frowns at himself as the tailor helps him shrug the button up on over his undershirt. 

“You think it’s _too_ matchy?” Eddie asks, turning to check out other angles. 

“Uh. Maybe wait and see with the pants,” Richie says, sounding a bit strained. 

Eddie glances down at his black boxer briefs and back at Richie. Richie is staring hard at his phone, unreadable expression on his face. 

“I just wonder if maybe we should both be in grey suits, and just swap the color of the ties,” Eddie says thoughtfully, bending over to pull his pants on. 

Richie makes a wounded noise that quickly morphs into a cough. “Bev knows what she’s doing, Eds.” 

“Still. This does feel a little like prom.” 

“This was your idea, dude.” 

“I _know._ I’m just trying to—” 

He catches himself just as Marty appears again and raises his eyebrows meaningfully at Richie. Richie shrugs and shakes his head like he doesn’t understand Eddie’s silent communication. 

While Marty is busy unfurling his measuring tape, Eddie fishes his phone out from his jeans. 

**Eddie:** I was going to say, I’m just trying to make this believable. 

**Richie Tozier:** i know  
 **Richie Tozier:** just wanted to watch you bend over again ;)

 **Eddie:** dick

They chat casually with each other and Marty for the rest of Eddie’s fitting. He’s actually pretty pleased with how the suit looks all put together, and Richie halfheartedly tells him he looks good in it while looking at a spot on the wall above Eddie’s head. 

Whatever. He trusts Bev’s taste more than Richie’s opinion anyway. 

Richie offers to take him out for happy hour at a bar down the street once they’re done, and since Eddie would currently rather die than drive in rush hour traffic, he agrees without a thought. 

* * *

**Richie:** hey  
 **Richie** : fuck you very much for that suit

 **Bevvie** : i have no idea what you’re talking about

 **Richie** : really  
 **Richie** : bc the skinny cut of those pants tells me u do

 **Bevvie** : its flattering for his body type richie  
 **Bevvie** : gotta show off those runners thighs 😳

 **Richie** : i hate you

 **Bevvie** : 😘

* * *

The bar they end up in is pretty busy. Richie elbows his way to a couple unclaimed stools at the front, Eddie in tow, and flags down the bartender. She must recognize him, because she comes over to take their order immediately, ignoring another couple two stools down that got there first. 

“Hi. Vodka soda with lime for the pipsqueak,” Eddie elbows him sharply in the ribs, “and a Jack Daniels for me. Neat.”

“Of course,” the bartender says. Sarah, according to her nametag. 

She makes the drinks and passes them over in less than a minute, smiling hesitantly at Richie. 

“Thanks, Sarah,” Richie says with a wink. She grins shyly, and Richie catches sight of the rainbow pin on her collar as she’s walking away to take the next order. 

They sip in silence for a few minutes, and Bev’s words from the other day come back to haunt him the longer he stews in it. Eddie tilts his head back and sighs, and he stares into the dregs of his drink to avoid looking at his throat. 

“So how’s LA treating you?” Richie asks, and immediately kicks himself. This is the exact conversation he _wasn’t_ going to have. 

Eddie’s head drops, and he glances at Richie with his eyes half lidded. “Fine. I think the road rage is giving me ulcers though.” 

“And New York didn’t?” 

Eddie tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, fair point.” 

They sip, and Richie frets, and then it’s out of his mouth before he can control himself. 

“But you. I mean, you _like_ it here right?” Richie presses, flagging Sarah over for a refill to avoid looking at Eddie. 

“Yeah, I like it here, Rich,” Eddie says. “Are you like… are you worried or something?” 

“No, not worried,” Richie lies. “Just— just making sure you’re happy with your decision. That you’re not wishing you were down in Georgia with Stan and Pats.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “No. No offense to Stan and Patty, but _Georgia_? The humidity alone, fuck that.”

“Can’t have any frizz in those perfect curls, can we?” Richie teases, ruffling Eddie’s hair and laughing when Eddie retaliates by slapping his shoulder. 

“No we fucking can’t,” Eddie agrees, fixing his hair. He finishes his drink, and Sarah is there with a refill within a minute. 

“Chicago is cool too though,” Richie says, working hard to sound casual. 

Eddie’s sharp eyes are on him though, and he fumbles. “I mean, the weather is kind of shitty, but Ben and Bev are there, and the culture—”

“What are you doing?” Eddie interrupts. “You sick of me already?” 

“ _No_ , fuck, of course not. I’m just you know. Checking in.” 

Eddie narrows his eyes, but Richie just smiles and sips innocently. 

“Richie. What’s going on?” 

“ _Nothing,_ I just— Bev just pointed out that you uh. You could’ve moved anywhere, after, you know, and I just wanna make sure you’re not like. Regretting it.” 

It’s sort of the truth. And he kind of can’t believe how fast he caved, but Eddie has always been able to worm the truth out of Richie with little more than a shrewd stare and a refusal to engage with Richie’s shit until he gives in. Richie is just expediting the process. 

“Dreams” by The Cranberries starts playing over the radio. Richie focuses on trying to remember the lyrics rather than Eddie’s piercing stare, and throws back the rest of his drink. 

“Um. How’s work—”

“I’m good, Rich,” Eddie says, so softly Richie almost doesn’t hear him over the music and the crowd. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s smiling crookedly at Richie, and _god_ Richie almost says it right there, in front of god and Sarah and the tourists from Nebraska seated next to them. “I’m really happy here. Promise.” 

And it doesn’t answer the question that Richie couldn’t ask out loud, but it does quell something uneasy that’s been festering under the surface since the day Eddie told him he was moving to LA. That this is enough, that Richie is enough, that he won't lose him again. He clinks his glass against Eddie’s and returns his smile, and loses himself in it for the rest of the night. 

**↣↢**

Ben and Bev decided on a redwood wedding, because they’re a couple of hippie weirdos, and because they wanted to keep it as private as possible. Nothing more private than a wedding in the middle of a forest. The pictures on the web are pretty enough though, and Richie’s sure he’ll end up crying at some point, but he’s still obligated to make fun of them a little bit. 

The venue is in California but they end up flying, because it’s a twelve hour drive and he’d rather hear Eddie complain about how disgusting airplanes are for one hour than listen to his backseat driving for twelve.

It’s an uneventful flight, for the most part. As soon as they’re in the air Eddie reclines his seat, puts on his noise cancelling headphones, closes his eyes and ignores him. 

“I use _my_ miles for first class tickets and this is how I’m repaid,” Richie gripes. Eddie hums and leans his head against the window. 

About halfway through the flight they hit turbulence. Eddie stirs and grabs his wrist, prompting Richie to throw an arm around his shoulders in the name of comfort. Eddie shrugs it off and snaps at him to, quote, "get off me and brace yourself, you fucking dumbass, you think hanging off of me will save you when we crash?" Richie practically shrieks with laughter, inciting an even louder tirade from Eddie, and a flight attendant has to ask them to please settle down, so all in all it's one of Richie's better experiences with Delta airlines. 

They make it to the hotel at the same time as Bill and Mike. Stan and Patty arrive about thirty minutes after that, and once everyone is checked in they have a mini Losers reunion in the hotel bar. 

Ben and Bev find them an hour later, halfway to drunk at seven o’clock, and are greeted with loud cheers from the six of them. 

“There they are, the _hottest_ couple in Hollywood, two days from being off the market forever!” Richie crows as Ben and Bev are hugged and kissed and shuffled into bar stools. 

“I dunno Rich, you and Eddie might have us beat in that category now,” Bev teases, planting a kiss on his forehead. 

Bill and Mike round on them immediately; Richie feels Eddie shrink in his seat. 

“ _What?_ ”

“Holy sh-shit, guys.”

“It’s not—“

“That’s right!” Richie interrupts, twisting around to wrap his arm around Eddie. “I finally bagged little Eddie Spaghetti. It broke his poor mother’s heart to do it, but the heart wants what the heart wants—“

“Beep beep dick,” Eddie says, throwing Richie’s arm off for the second time that day. “It’s for PR, it was his publicist’s idea.”

“Ah,” Mike says, looking between them a little too knowingly. Alarm bells sound in Richie’s head, and he puts on his most exaggerated British voice to deflect. 

“It may have started that way, my darling, but alas I have fallen deeply in love, and I’m dis _traught,_ for my darling Edward doesn’t return my feelings.” 

“And the rest of you knew about this?” Mike asks the rest of the group suddenly, cutting off whatever response Eddie may have had to that. He probably doesn’t want to know. 

Bev and Stan shrug simultaneously. “Yeah, Richie told me so I wouldn’t be blindsided,” Bev explains. 

“And he told me because he loves me more than you, I guess,” Stan adds, taking a sip of his wine and smirking.

“Okay, this is what the group chat is for,” Mike chastises. “ _Exactly_ for shit like this that we should all be aware of.”

“Don’t listen to him, Mikey, I love _you_ the most,” Richie says. He wraps his arms around Mike’s shoulder and digs his chin in his shoulder until Mike laughs and pushes him away. 

The rest of the night descends into chaos as they continue to drink and catch up and toast the newlyweds to be. Richie avoids Eddie’s eyes, strangely scared of what he might find after his mock confession. 

It doesn’t stop Eddie from slumping against his back when he hits his limit. Richie’s skin prickles everywhere they’re pressed together, and he tries not to enjoy it when he has to help him to his room and into bed. 

“Come on, Spaghetti, room key.”

Eddie groans, leaning heavily into Richie’s side. “‘S in my pocket.” 

“Okay. Are you going to get it?” 

“No.”

Richie sighs and digs in Eddie’s front pocket, gingerly avoiding touching anything that will awaken worse fantasies than the ones that haunt him currently. 

“Heh… buy me dinner first, creep,” Eddie slurs before dissolving into a fit of giggles. 

“Terrible. Zero out of ten,” Richie says. Eddie just hiccups and laughs harder.

Richie gets the door open, and hauls Eddie inside towards the bathroom. 

“Okay go brush your teeth and get started on that fifty-step skin care routine, I’ll find your pajamas.”  
  
Eddie grunts but stumbles in the bathroom to do as Richie says. He hears the water turn on, and Eddie swearing quietly as he fumbles with his toothpaste while Richie opens his compulsively packed suitcase. His pajamas are right on top, like Eddie packed his outfits sequentially. It’s unbelievably endearing. 

He passes Eddie his pajamas in the bathroom. “Take a Tylenol Eds, and drink some water.” 

“I _know_ what to do Richie, fuck off.”

Richie blows him a kiss and pivots back to the bedroom to pull the covers down, because he’s a goddamn gentleman. He flops down on the other side when he’s done, feeling loose limbed and relaxed, and scrolls through the pictures he took tonight while he waits for Eddie. 

“Aw, Eddie, you gotta see this picture of you and Patty,” he calls. “She’s kissing your cheek, it’s adorable.” 

“Let me see.” 

Eddie emerges, shutting off the bathroom light, and crawls into bed. He shuffles over until he’s practically in Richie’s lap, head resting on his shoulder to look at Richie’s phone. Richie freezes. 

“This is not cute,” Eddie says, pulling the phone from Richie’s limp hand. Eddie smells like mint, and he’s practically cuddling, and all of Richie’s bodily functions shut the fuck down. 

“It’s not?” Richie squeaks, clearing his throat. 

“No, my eyes are half closed. Patty looks cute — did you take more?” 

“No, uh, not really,” Richie says, snatching his phone back before Eddie can scroll and see that most of the pictures he took are of him. “You ready to sleep?”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums noncommittally, and then Richie thinks he actually _dies_ because Eddie scoots down and snuggles into his chest, wrapping an arm around Richie’s middle like it’s nothing. 

“Remember when we used to do this?” Eddie asks quietly. “We took so many naps in that hammock. Til you got all fuckin’ tall and gangly.” 

His hair tickles Richie’s nose, but he doesn’t move. “Yeah. You’re just as fucking bony as you were then.” 

“You love it,” Eddie mumbles. He can feel his breathing even out, and fucking hell Richie doesn’t think he can handle Eddie falling asleep on him like this, warm and pliant and soft. 

“You got me,” Richie says softly. "I lied to Mike. You're my favorite."

Eddie’s already asleep. 

Richie waits, savoring the moment as long as he can stand, and then gently disentangles himself from Eddie’s arms. Eddie doesn’t stir when he slips out of the door. 

**↣↢**

The next morning they all meet downstairs for a late breakfast. Most of them are terribly hungover, Stan and Bill more so than the rest. They have to split between a few tables, and Richie finds himself sat with Stan, Patty and Eddie, who’s frowning deeply at his orange juice. 

“What’s going on Eddie?” Patty asks when Eddie doesn’t touch his food. 

“Nothing,” Eddie answers, glancing up at Richie. He takes a hesitant sip of his juice. 

“Eds, one _tiny_ little ungloved finger dipping into the OJ canister won’t kill you,” Richie says, and predictably Eddie’s eyes go wide. 

Eddie spits his juice back in the glass while Richie cackles. “ _What?_ ”

“I’m fucking with you, lighten up.”

“You _fucking—_ “

Eddie reaches across to slap Richie; he’s saved by Stan catching Eddie’s wrist. 

“ _Some_ of us are nursing hangovers from hell over here,” he grumbles, releasing Eddie’s hand with a glare and going back to his eggs. Patty rubs the back of his neck soothingly. 

Eddie doesn’t lighten up much during breakfast. He keeps shooting Richie furtive little looks, glancing away every time Richie catches him. Ben and Bev leave around ten to finish some last minute errands, and the Losers all disperse back to their rooms to catch a few more hours of sleep. 

Sometime around noon, Eddie calls him.

“Are you awake?” he asks briskly. 

“Yeah, couldn’t sleep. Working on some new material for Netflix.”

“I’m on my way over,” he announces. 

“Um, okay. Everything okay?” Richie asks, scrambling to clear his desk of his failed attempts to be funny on paper.

“Yes. No. I don’t know. I’ll be there in five seconds.” 

He hangs up without another word, leaving Richie alone to stew in his anxiety.

He doesn’t get to wallow for long; Eddie shows up five seconds later, as promised. Richie lets him in, and his anxiety is kicked up to eleven just looking at the slightly manic look in his eyes. 

“Okay, I think— and don’t interrupt me, okay?” Eddie begins without preamble as he walks in. “Just let me get this out.” 

“I literally didn’t say a word, Eds.” 

“Yeah but you _will_. Sit down.” 

Richie sits obediently, both terrified and curious about what has Eddie in such a mood. 

Eddie paces a few times in front of his bed and wrings his hands before he starts talking again. 

“I went on Twitter this morning,” Eddie says, and that’s all the explanation Richie needs. 

“Spaghetti, come on, you know better—”

“ _Don’t interrupt,_ ” Eddie repeats, nostrils flaring. His hands start gesturing wildly as he talks; Richie counts at least five air chops. “I went on Twitter, specifically to your mentions, obviously, just to get a feel for what we’re— and it just fucking— these assholes are _scum,_ Richie, like, worst people on earth and we have to... We gotta make this good, okay? We can’t give them the satisfaction of being right about you, because obviously they’re _not_ , and I know you can’t stand him but Rob has a point. And I'm kinda freaking out because we haven’t really _talked_ about it since we decided to do this, and I want to do it _right_ , and this is the best way to shut them up, so it needs to be really convincing.” 

Eddie pauses for breath. Richie notices that his shirt is on backwards, but tactfully keeps his mouth shut. 

“If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, I feel obligated to remind you that public sex is a felony.” 

“Shut up,” Eddie snaps. “I’m _saying,_ it needs to look good.” 

“Okay, I’m with you Eds,” Richie says, lifting his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Hand holding, moon eyes, arms around shoulders. We can even slow dance, okay? I got it.” 

“I think we should kiss.”

Richie freezes. 

Takes a long, agonizing moment to process. 

And, in a very calm, extremely _normal_ voice, squeaks, “ _What?_ ” 

“I think. We. Should. Kiss,” Eddie repeats, bitchier and bitchier with every word. 

Richie can’t even bring himself to be annoyed or endeared by his tone, or the brilliant flush of his cheeks. He can’t, because his brain is currently liquifying and dripping down his spinal column to pool somewhere in the vicinity of his ass. 

“I don’t— do you really think that’s necessary?” Richie stutters. 

“ _Yes,_ ” Eddie insists. He steps closer, and Richie jerks back on instinct. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, or care. “It’s a good idea, people don’t just kiss people they’re not really dating just for press. How many PR relationships do you know of that _actually_ kiss each other?” 

“ _All of them._ Literally all of them Eddie, what are you even talking about?” Richie asks, feeling a bit like he’s gone through the looking glass, and a lot like he’s dying. 

Eddie’s close enough that Richie can smell his aftershave. He stands, brushing past Eddie to put some distance between them. He can’t fucking _think_ when Eddie is that close. 

“I don’t even— look, Eds, you don’t have to make out with me in front of the cameras just to prove a point,” Richie says. “I’ve been in Hollywood a long time, okay, this— this is just a _baby_ PR relationship. Just enough of one to show people that I’m not completely unfuckable, or lying about being gay for ‘clout’, whatever the fuck that is.” 

“Fine. Then let's make it count and do it _right._ I’m not reading any of this bullshit about you anymore, okay? We’re doing this. We’re shutting those fuckers up for good.” 

“Eds,” Richie says desperately. “Come on—“  
  
“Jesus, am I that repulsive?” Eddie asks. Richie almost laughs, but there’s an edge of sincerity in his tone that stops him. “I know I’m no fucking Bill Denbrough, but—”

“God, no, Eddie. It’s _not_ that, you’re— I tell you constantly how hot you are, dude.” 

“You say I’m _cute._ ”

“Same thing!” Richie says, and he’s _definitely_ blushing now. “It would be a fucking honor to kiss you dude—” ( _what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck_ ) “—but I just don’t wanna make things… I don’t know. Weird.” 

“Rich, you asked for my help.”

“You offered, actually.”

“Irrelevant. I’m trying to help. Let me.”

Richie looks at Eddie, all 5’9 of him, full to the brim of loyalty and righteous indignation on Richie’s behalf, and he loves him so much it might actually kill him. And if he’s gonna die anyway, he might as well find out if Eddie’s lips are as soft as they look. 

“Okay,” he says after a long moment of staring. “Okay, you wore me down Kaspbrak. I’ll kiss you or whatever.” 

“Great.”

Eddie doesn’t relax. If anything he looks more tense at Richie’s acquiescence, blinking rapidly and not making eye contact. 

“Are you—“

“We should practice,” Eddie says between short, tense breaths. 

“ _Practice?_ Eds, what do you need to practice? Have you never kissed anyone before?” 

“Shut up, of course I have. I mean _we_ should practice, because it’ll look more natural. Obviously.” 

Richie stares. Eddie stares back, looking maybe more agitated than Richie’s ever seen him. His hands are clenching and unclenching sporadically at his sides, and he’s so tense that if someone were to knock him over right now, he’d keel over like a plank of wood. 

“I mean, I haven’t brushed my teeth since breakfast, so if you want I can—“

“Shut up,” Eddie snaps, closing the distance between them with three long strides and yanking Richie down by the neck into a hard kiss. 

And maybe Eddie has a point, because at first it’s like kissing a marble statue. It’s still the greatest kiss of his life, because it’s _Eddie,_ but Eddie just _stands_ there, tightly closed lips pressed awkwardly against Richie’s. 

He pulls back and stares at Richie’s mouth, cheeks pink. Richie can count his freckles this close. 

“I think… it needs some work,” Richie says quietly. 

Eddie nods but doesn’t move. His eyes are locked on Richie’s lips, nails digging in a little on Richie’s neck. 

Slowly, Richie reaches up to tug Eddie’s hands off of his neck and settle them on his chest. He cups Eddie’s face between his hands and leans in slow, tilting Eddie’s face for a better angle, and then — 

Then it’s like the room has flipped upside down. Richie is dizzy with it, and Eddie’s lips are the only thing keeping him anchored to the floor. 

All previous tension is forgotten; Eddie slots their lips together and kisses like he has something to prove. His hands roam Richie’s chest, and grapple at his shoulders, and his mouth is slick and hot and Richie is fucking drowning in it. He slips his hands into Eddie’s hair just as Eddie opens his mouth and traces his tongue over Richie’s bottom lip. 

“Fuck, Eds,” he gasps unthinkingly, but Eddie either doesn't hear him or doesn't care. He presses against his chest, and Richie’s knees nearly buckle when Eddie’s tongue slides behind his teeth. 

Richie drops his hands to Eddie’s waist to haul him closer, but Eddie has other ideas. He gets a hand between them to push Richie against the wall with a soft thunk. 

If he wasn’t already halfway there, that would have been enough for all of the blood in his body to take a one way trip below the border. Richie groans when Eddie crowds against him, pressing their hips together, and there’s no way he can’t feel how hard Richie is but it doesn’t deter him. He mashes their bodies together, inch by torturous inch, and licks into Richie’s mouth like it’s what he was put on this earth to do. 

Just when he thinks he can’t take anymore, Eddie changes tactics, trailing his mouth across Richie’s jaw and down his neck. Richie jerks in his grip when he reaches a particularly sensitive spot below his ear, and Eddie bites and sucks at it until he’s gasping, and grinds forward to feel that Eddie is hard too. 

“ _EddieEddieEddie_ , Jesus Christ,” he chants, breaths coming fast. There’s no way this is happening, this is straight out of one of Richies wet dreams, it can’t be real—

It _can't_ be real. _F_ _uck._ Reality crashes back between them like a bucket of cold water. 

“Okay, uh, I think we’re good,” Richie says hoarsely, shivering when Eddie’s teeth drag over his sensitive skin. 

Eddie pauses. He keeps his face buried in Richie’s neck for a long moment before finally drawing back. He shivers again when Eddie resurfaces; he sort of wishes he’d died before seeing Eddie like this, a fucking manifestation of his most vivid fantasies. Lips red and swollen, hair a fucking mess, wide eyes dark and shocked. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, clearing his throat when it comes out husky, and _godfuckingdammit_. “Uh.”

He doesn’t have a follow up, apparently, and slowly extricates himself from Richie. They catch their breath, looking anywhere but each other and the obvious tents in their respective pants. 

“So I’m uh. I’m gonna head out?” Eddie says like it’s a question. 

“Cool, yeah, I have some.” Richie clears his throat, still pinned against the door by some invisible force. “I have some jokes to write, and… stuff.” 

“Right.” 

They make eye contact; Eddie looks stressed to the point of tears, and he feels sick.

“Hey, it’s fine,” he assures Eddie, finally taking a step forward. “I mean obviously we both need to get laid more often, because that was— uh.”

The best thing that's ever happened to him? The _worst_ thing that’s ever happened to him? The greatest sexual experience of his life without actual sex? Something he’s dreamt about since he was fourteen? A mistake that will haunt him until he dies? All viable options that stick in his throat.

“Yep,” Eddie agrees, though to what, he has no idea. “I’ll see you tonight, Rich.” 

And then he’s gone, bumping into the doorframe in his haste to leave. 

Richie takes a deep breath, and trudges to the bathroom to take the coldest shower of his life. 

**↣↢**

**Richie** : hey just wanted to let u guys know  
 **Richie** : u were right  
 **Richie** : worst idea i’ve had since i called pennywise a sloppy bitch and got instantly deadlighted  
 **Richie** : also, nbd, but i think eddie might not be totally straight

 **Bevvie:** oh honey 🙁  
 **Bevvie:** okay you can’t say that and then not pick up the phone   
**Bevvie** : i’m coming to your room as soon as we get back

 **Richie** : rehearsal dinner is in 2 hours bev dont worry about me, seriously  
 **Richie** : stan ur not getting married tomorrow so u have to come. bring patty

 **Stan the Man:** On my way

**↣↢**

**Eddie Spaghetti** : hey  
 **Eddie Spaghetti** : I’m sorry. 

**Richie** : nothing to be sorry for eds

 **Eddie Spaghetti** : except jumping you against your will??   
**Eddie Spaghetti** : of course there’s something to apologize for 

**Richie** : eds i would’ve stopped you if it was like that   
**Richie** : we’re good spaghetti, promise 

**Eddie Spaghetti** : okay. thanks.   
**Eddie Spaghetti** : see you soon? 

**Richie** : it’s a date cutie 😘

* * *

Bev and Ben chose not to have anyone in their wedding party. They wanted all of the Losers up there with them, and when Richie tried to engage them all in a wrestling competition for the best man spot and nearly broke Bill’s clavicle, they decided it would be easier to forgo the concept altogether. 

Eddie’s grateful, because that means less toasting at dinner, and less time he has to spend with Richie’s hands on him at all fucking times. 

It started before dinner. There’s not many photo ops tonight; Bev and Ben didn’t even ask their photographer to be at the rehearsal, but there’s lots of candids being taken with cell phones, and lots of eyes that can either corroborate or derail their story.

Richie had explained all of this in Eddie’s ear, pressed against his back with his arms locked around Eddie’s chest. Stan snapped a picture of them with a little wink while Eddie just stood there absolutely _burning._ Richie continued with the casual touches, and it’s not as though that’s abnormal for them, because they’ve always been more tactile than most, but it’s fucking maddening after what happened earlier. 

The kiss was a mistake. Obviously. He knows that _now._ He forgot himself, and Richie let him just fucking paw all over him because he’s too nice and forgives Eddie anything, but he’s had a nauseating film of guilt clinging to him for hours now. Four showers didn’t ease the pit in his stomach, especially considering he jerked off in the first one. And the third one.

And now Richie’s here, laughing and smiling and acting like it’s fine, and touching Eddie every chance he gets. Currently they’re at their table waiting on appetizers, and Richie has his arm casually slung on the back of the chair, and Eddie is on fucking _fire._

“I’m gonna run to the bathroom, need anything baby?” Richie asks him, and he tries not to blush. 

“I’m good,” he answers, avoiding his eyes and keeping his voice carefully neutral. 

“Be right back,” Richie says, laying a kiss on the top of his head as he leaves. _Christ_ Eddie is going to die before the weekend is over. 

He watches Richie leave, and when he looks back four pairs of eyes are staring at him with varying expressions. 

“Shut _up,_ ” he groans, head falling into his hands. 

“We didn’t say anything,” Mike says innocently. 

“You’re _staring,_ ” he mumbles through his fingers. 

“No we’re not,” Stan says. When Eddie chances it, naturally Stan is staring at him with a witting smirk on his face, like he knows exactly what happened a few hours ago. 

“W-we’re just worried, Eddie,” Bill says with a slight frown. 

Sweet Bill. No wonder he’s universally fucking adored.

“Don’t be. We’re fine,” Eddie says. “I’m fine.”

No one looks convinced. Eddie shifts and picks at his food, avoiding their stares. They’re all still staring when he glances up again. 

“Okay, keep this shit up and I’m going to sit with Ben and Bev,” he snaps. 

Stan laughs, and finally they all go back to minding their own business just as Richie reappears, planting another kiss on Eddie’s cheek when he sits down. 

After dinner, they migrate to an outdoor courtyard and watch Ben and Bev go through the motions of the ceremony. Bev’s initial plan was to walk down the aisle by herself, but once Ben is in place, she approaches Richie and quietly asks him to give her away tomorrow. He bursts into tears, and doesn’t stop crying throughout the entire rehearsal. Eddie’s heart is so full it might fucking explode before he can see the real thing. 

He sits between Patty and Bill for the mock ceremony. He knows he’s staring at Richie, and he knows Stan has noticed, but he doesn’t care. Richie is beaming, and he knows tomorrow he’s going to be even more radiant when he gives Bev away for real, and it’s fucking impossible to look away from the two of them. 

Richie is still teary when the rehearsal ends, and he hangs off of Eddie even more as a result. They relocate back to the hotel bar after the rest of the guests excuse themselves to bed. And there’s no reason for it anymore, but Richie keeps leaning against him, or rubbing his back, or playing with his hands for the entire night as the eight of them drink and celebrate together.

Sometime around eleven, they’re all sprawled across one of the oversized booths in the bar. Richie lays his head on Eddie’s shoulder and falls asleep. Carefully, to avoid waking him, Eddie takes his glasses off, and it’s as he catches himself brushing Richie’s hair out of his eyes that he realizes he is so, _so_ fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ben: hey, this is kind of, like, my wedding, maybe you could give me a line-?  
> me: shhhh this isn't about you baby
> 
> [this is the suit richie is gonna wear](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/d0/40/65/d040650e23f26f70d30869edb6ad6583.jpg) mr. hader i would like to see it please stop wearing black
> 
> uhhh this was supposed to be a small prompt fill for ale and then it turned into this monster that i lowkey hate but i highkey love ale so i'm posting it. once i figure out how i want to end it i'll be back for part 2, in the meantime here i am on [tumblr](https://hyruling.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night was one thing. No official cameras, so they kept it lowkey, barely more touching than what’s customary for them. Tonight is when they’ll get the pictures that will transition rumors into fact, and tomorrow he will have to read headlines that say “Richie Tozier confirmed to be dating childhood best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak.” He’ll have to read articles expounding on their love story, which, if it were true, is a depressingly fucking good one. Fans will eat it up, his career will probably boom, and he’ll be forced to carry it out indefinitely, trapping Eddie with him in this hellish charade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm very nervous to post this because i got some of the nicest comments in my life on chapter 1 so i'm terrified of disappointing you angels!! hope you like it <3
> 
> also i reference several songs in this chapter, which are all linked within the chapter to help set the mood if you want, because i'm a very annoying person. feel free to ignore them

“Whoa, hey chill out there Dwayne, let me get it.” 

Eddie huffs and leans against the wall, box wedged between his stomach and the chipped paint of his new kitchen. “I’m _fine,_ Richie. Who the fuck is Dwayne?” 

“Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson, obviously,” Richie says, plucking the box from Eddie’s arms easily. “This is definitely heavier than twenty pounds, you know the rules. I think there’s still some pillows left in the truck.” 

“Fuck you,” Eddie snaps, but he lets Richie take the box. He’s not about to tell Richie, but his chest _had_ started twinging around the time he had tried to lift a box of books accidentally labeled “office supplies”. Somehow he feels like that was Richie’s fault anyway. 

Richie disappears inside. Eddie heads back out to the curb, and all the breath seems to leave his lungs when he sees the nearly empty truck. This is _real_. He’s really here, thousands of miles from Myra and his old, grey life. There were so many times in the last ten years when he’d imagine this, spend hours daydreaming of just getting in his car, of driving west and not looking back. He’d idly scroll through job listings along the west coast, or in Alaska, Canada, Hawaii — places so far away he could leave his old life in the dust, a forgotten pitstop on the way to his real life that was just out of reach.

And then the bills would arrive, and he’d remember that his name was on the mortgage and all the promises he’d made to Myra, and the dream would fade. 

He picks up a stray coaster that fell out of the box labeled “living room”. He bought it in New Orleans three years ago, when he and Myra took a rare anniversary trip. It’s got a cartoon drawing of a little girl with a speech bubble that reads: “I Said 1825 Too Lane”. It was apparently an inside joke within the city, something about a furniture shop and their infamous commercial, and there was absolutely no reason for him to buy it, but he did. He bought a whole set of them, in fact. Myra had chosen more conventional souvenirs: a bottle of hot sauce that she never used, and some coffee from Cafe Du Monde that she never drank. She didn’t understand Eddie’s choice, but she also didn’t care enough to question it too much. There was something about being in on a joke he had no business being in on, about feeling a sense of belonging to a place that he didn’t belong to — it had resonated with him at the time. 

Well. It’s not as if there weren’t clues about his marriage the size of fucking Everest.

“Rosenberg’s, Rosenberg’s, 1825... Tulane!” Richie sings behind him, and he jumps. 

“How do you know that song?” Eddie asks. Richie shrugs and steps around him to grab the second to last box. 

“My family took a trip to New Orleans when I was eleven, remember? That commercial played _constantly_ on Cartoon Network. I even forced my parents to take us to 1825 Tulane, convinced it had to be something way cooler than a furniture store.” 

Richie weighs the box in his arms and frowns. “This is the pillow box, you take this one.” 

Eddie takes the box from him and watches him bend over to grab the last one. 

“Did you forget us? When you were there?” 

Richie pauses. His family was the only one among the Losers that ever took a vacation somewhere further than the Maine coastline. He doesn’t turn around for a long moment. 

“I guess… fuck, I think I did,” Richie says slowly. He faces Eddie, eyes slanted down as he remembers. “God, yeah, when we pulled back into Derry… I remember I started _sobbing,_ and I didn’t know why. My parents just thought I’d had a fucking great time and was sad to be back home or something. They didn’t even bitch when I ran straight to your house without helping unload the car.” 

Eddie swallows thickly, suddenly remembering that day himself. Richie had wiped away most of his tears by then, but he remembers seeing his red rimmed eyes and teasing him about it. Richie had laughed it off and pulled Eddie into a long hug before dragging him over to Bill’s house, and then Stan’s. He didn’t hug either of them for as long as he’d hugged Eddie, and Eddie held that fact close to his chest for the rest of the summer. 

Richie follows Eddie back inside, and when they set the boxes down Richie beams at Eddie, incandescent in a way that could rival the sun. 

“Just like that, you’re officially moved in, Eds. Welcome to Los Angeles!”

* * *

  
  


Rob calls Richie the morning of the wedding, waking him at the ungodly hour of nine am. He lets the first two go to voicemail before he bothers picking up. 

“Jesus Christ dude, do you not understand the concept of a declined phone call? I am hungover as fuck, this better be good.” 

“Richie, there are already articles about you and Eddie popping up online. This shit is _working,_ I told you it would.” 

Richie sits up straight, heart hammering in his chest. He shouldn’t be this surprised; this was the whole fucking point, after all. He just can’t remember sending Rob any pictures last night. 

“Uh— what are you, where are they— how?”

“Beverly Marsh posted pictures on her Instagram, dude. They’re all over Twitter, and Buzzfeed and all the other gossip rags have already picked up on it.” 

Richie releases a breath. “Okay, well… that’s peachy.” 

“Negative comments are down seventy percent, Rich. This is _fantastic_. Everyone from ‘Queer Eye’ retweeted the pictures and commented on Instagram, and—” 

“Yeah, got it,” Richie says tightly. “Just… send me the links.” 

“I will, but Richie… this could go beyond the wedding,” Rob says. Richie’s jaw clenches. “If tonight gets results like these, who knows where it could lead.”  
  
“' _Results’_ ,” Richie scoffs. “This isn’t an experiment, dude, it’s my fucking life _._ More importantly it’s _Eddie’s_ life, I’m not dragging him any deeper into this scam than he already is. He doesn’t deserve that.” 

“Okay, I hear you, but if he’s _okay_ with it—”  
  
“I’m not asking, Rob. And I’m ending this conversation before you can fuck up this day for me any more.” 

Rob sighs. He knows that sigh. He _hates_ that sigh. Hates it more than most other sounds in the world. He doesn’t know how a person can manage to be patronizing with just a sigh, but Rob is a fucking pro at it. “Fine, Richie. Enjoy the wedding. We’ll talk later.” 

Richie fumbles to hang up first, and swears when Rob beats him to it. _Asshole_. 

He flops back on the pillows and throws an arm over his eyes. Surely he can ignore reality for another few hours before Bev starts nagging him to get ready. He’s just about fallen back asleep when his phone starts buzzing with incoming texts.

Rob sends him a few links as promised. Richie stares at them for a long time, strongly considers deleting them and blocking Rob’s number entirely, until curiosity gets the better of him. 

**Buzzfeed News**

**By Alice Gregor, Buzzfeed Staff**

**Richie Tozier spotted with new mystery man!**

It’s been six months since the comeback tour that shocked the world, when Richie Tozier announced to the world that he was, quote: “one of the gayest motherf*ckers on the planet”. After a rocky few months, things seemed to be settling down for the comedian, who’s since been laying low and quietly working on a Netflix special, expected early next year. 

Until last night, when Tozier finally stepped out with his rumored boyfriend. 

The couple made their debut at the wedding celebrations for Beverly Marsh and Benjamin Hanscom this weekend. Marsh posted pictures from the rehearsal dinner on her Instagram, which feature some candids of Richie and his unnamed beau looking very cozy together! 

Sources say the pair were childhood friends, and grew up in the same part of Maine as Marsh and author William Denbrough, who was also in attendance. According to reports, Tozier has long had feelings for his as of yet unnamed best friend… 

Richie stops reading. The pictures speak for themselves anyway. 

He enlarges the most incriminating one. In it, he has his arms wrapped around Eddie’s chest from behind, casual and familiar in a way that makes his face hot. His chin is resting on Eddie’s shoulder, and the twin smiles on their faces are huge and genuine. His hand is resting over Eddie’s scar, unconsciously protective, and it makes his own chest ache. He saves it to his phone before pulling up Bev’s Instagram for the rest. 

There are a few of Richie and Eddie laughing together, of Richie‘s arm casually thrown around Eddie, but they’re pretty innocuous compared to the first. Bev really hit it out of the park with her choices; they’re enough to spark suspicion and generate buzz without being too overt. No wonder Rob is creaming his pants. 

He spends a long time looking at the photos. He doesn’t dare look at Twitter or the comments on Instagram; he’d rather just take Robs word for it that they’re being received well. His cell rings again before he can give into temptation, putting an end to his sadistic self flagellation.

“Morning Haystack,” Richie says easily. 

“Hey Richie, morning,” Ben greets him. 

“So. You got any big plans today?” Richie asks casually. Ben chuckles. 

“Breakfast ends in thirty minutes, you coming?”

“You mean you’re not already in hair and makeup?” Richie teases. “You’ve only got nine hours left until the ceremony, you know.”

“Good point. You better get in there asap, they're gonna need every second to make you presentable.”

“Ohhh, Benjamino gets off a good one!” Richie cries while Ben laughs. “I know it’s your wedding day and all, but words hurt Haystack. It’s not my fault I’m the only one that grew up ugly.”

“You know I’m kidding. Your Twitter followers are way too vocal about their lust for you to possibly believe me.” 

“Bunch of perverts, all of them. I’ll be down in a minute.” 

“Great, see you soon.”

Richie throws on a bright green t-shirt that definitely doesn’t match his pajama bottoms, just for the opportunity to see Eddie’s disgusted face. He does brush his teeth and run a hand through his bedhead, because he may love teasing Eddie, but he’s also a lovesick idiot with a beautiful and judgemental risk analyst to impress. 

Eddie doesn’t disappoint, looking Richie up and down with the anticipated pinched expression Richie lives for as he approaches the table five minutes later. 

“Just because we’re at a hotel doesn’t mean people can’t see you,” Eddie says, nodding at Richie’s clothes.

“The general public has seen me in a much worse state Spaghetti, trust me.” 

He sits down, steaming mug of coffee in hand, and glances around the table. Eddie and Stan are on his left finishing up their breakfast. Ben, Bill, and Mike all return from the buffet moments later with fresh plates of food.

“Geez, what a sausage fest, where the ladies at?” 

“Bridal brunch. Do you ever listen when other people talk?” Stan answers with an exaggerated eye roll.

“Bev actually wants you to join them once you’ve eaten, Rich,” Ben says before he can respond. “She told me to tell you that you’re one of the girls now, and are required to spend the day with them.”

“That’s homophobic. Right? I think that’s homophobic.” Richie says. He takes a sip of coffee and muses. “Or is it sexist?”

“It’s b-b-because you’re in her wedding party now, dumbass,” Bill says sourly. 

“Oh? Is that a hint of jealousy I detect, Big Bill?” Richie says, leaning on his elbow and leering at Bill. Bill rolls his eyes while Stan and Mike groan on either side of him. “I’m just saying. Clearly Bev was more impressed with my wrestling skills, or she would’ve chosen you.” 

“I wa-was in the hospital for two d-days because of you,” Bill snaps. “If anything I should have g-gotten the pity pick.”

“So you _are_ jealous?” Richie concludes with a grin.

“Oh my god, are you twelve? Are you literally twelve right now?” Eddie interrupts, nearly slamming his mug on the table top. “You two are in your forties and _still_ fighting to impress Bev. She’s marrying Ben in like, eight hours, get a fucking grip.”

“So... what I’m hearing is that Bill’s not the only jealous one at the table,” Richie says, turning his smirk on Eddie. 

“You got me, I’m just _dying_ to sob all over myself in front of everyone I know,” Eddie snaps sarcastically. “Make sure to leak those pictures to the press.”

The argument continues until Stan stands up and announces breakfast is over. Ben leaves first to finish some unnamed wedding errands, but not before being subjected to a shitload of ribbing and “if you ever hurt her” type speeches. Stan talks Bill and Mike into doing some nerd birdwatching thing with him, and the three of them leave shortly after Ben. 

Eddie is quiet once they’re alone. Richie swirls his coffee dregs around, idly chewing a blueberry muffin, and when he chances looking at Eddie he’s hyper focused on something on his phone. Time to rip off the bandaid. 

“So, uh, Rob called,” Richie starts. He crushes a bit of muffin in his fingers. 

Eddie tenses and looks up from his phone. “Yeah?”

“Yep.”

Eddie stares, and does a weird side to side head shake thing when Richie doesn’t elaborate. “ _And?”_

“ _And…_ he says we nailed it. Media is losing their shit, homophobes turning to dust, et cetera.”

Eddie nods, mostly to himself, his gaze focused on Richie’s hands wrapped around his mug. “Well, okay. Good.” 

“Yeah. So if we do good tonight, he promised us each a cookie. One of those _big_ ones. From Panera.”

Eddie snorts. “Like that hippie even knows what a cookie is.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, were you not also a dues paying member of the ‘Salad Is The Only Food’ vegan cult not two months ago?”

“Fuck off, I was never a vegan.”

Richie laughs, and it peters out into a sigh. “Anyway, he really was uh. Happy, to put it lightly. So, thanks again.” 

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie says. 

He looks up at Richie from underneath his eyelashes, the same way he did when he kissed him. Richie swallows hard.

“So, I should find Bev—“

“What happens after tonight?” 

Richie freezes. “After?”

“Yeah, like… with us.”

“Us?” Richie repeats dumbly. 

Mentally, he tries to remember the FAST symptom checklist, because he’s pretty sure this is what a stroke feels like. 

“Yes, Richie, us,” Eddie says slowly. “Do we keep… I mean, do we keep it up? Or pretend to break up? What happens when we get home?”

 _F_ — Face. His face feels mostly normal, as far as faces go. Surely Eddie would tell him if one side suddenly started drooping?

“Oh. Right, yeah, that’s what you— right,” Richie stutters. Eddie eyes him shrewdly. 

_A_ — Arms. He surreptisciously lifts his arms, but can’t remember what the fuck he’s supposed to be checking for. Do your arms fall off? Do they feel like lead? Because his sort of do, and he’s not sure what to do about it. 

“Well I didn’t— Rob wants to keep it going, but I told him to fuck right off, because this isn’t a game, but... he’s super, sort of… pushy. Don’t worry, though, I’m gonna take care of it.” 

Eddie looks down and chews on his lip long enough that Richie considers leaving. 

_S_ — Speech. His speech didn’t feel slurred, but he’s still hungover as fuck, so would that even count anyway?

“I’ll do it.”

 _T_ — he has no idea what the fuck T stands for. What is even the fucking _point_ of acronyms?

“ _What_?”

“Do you need your fucking hearing checked? Jesus dude, seriously.”

“Eddie, you don’t have to do that,” Richie says hastily.

“I know,” Eddie says with a shrug. 

“I— _why?_ ”

Eddie grabs a sugar packet at random and tears it open. He blinks down at it and, after seemingly realizing he has nothing else to do with it, pours it in Richie’s empty coffee cup. 

“I just… want to see this through and be a good friend, Richie, I dunno. Why are you acting like it’s some huge fucking sacrifice? You’re not _actually_ that gross, you know.”

His cheeks turn pink as he says it. He tears the empty sugar packet into shreds while Richie’s own cheeks heat up. 

“Yeah but… don’t you wanna get back out there?” Richie presses. Eddie’s sharp eyes cut back up to his in a flash. “It’s been a few months since the big event—”

“You mean my divorce. It was a divorce, Richie, why do you do this?”

“— _and,_ you should be, like, going out to bars! Downloading Tinder! The kind of shit middle aged divorcees do. Get back in the saddle. There’s a shitload of women out there just waiting for newly single Eddie Kaspbrak to ravish them.” 

Eddie’s hand slips on the new sugar packet he’s started to open. Fine grains of sugar spill all over his fingers; he doesn’t seem to notice, eyes wide and locked with Richie’s. After a few long moments his eyebrows furrow and he brushes the sugar off his hands with short aggressive motions. 

“You’re a moron, Richie,” Eddie says, low and irritated, nose scrunching up in frustration when the sugar sticks to his skin. 

“Says the guy with sugar all over his hands,” Richie teases. “Not sure what you thought you were going to accomplish, but—”

“I’m gay,” Eddie blurts. 

“—you’ve always been... sweet to— sorry, what?” 

Eddie sighs. “I’m not going to repeat myself again Richie, fuck. You heard me.” 

“You’re… oh,” Richie says softly. 

Eddie’s blushing, but he has that fierce gleam in his eyes that dares Richie to say something stupid. The one that always mildly terrified him as kids, while simultaneously compelling him into doing absolutely anything Eddie ever dared him to do.

A hotel worker comes by to clear their empty plates, and it’s only then that Richie tears his eyes away from Eddie’s and remembers where they are. 

“Holy shit, did you really just come out at the ass end of a continental breakfast?” Richie breathes, heart in his throat. 

“Yeah, and? You gonna say anything?” Eddie snaps, sugary hands forgotten. His arms are crossed defiantly, and it would be a little intimidating if Richie couldn’t also feel his knee bouncing anxiously against his under the table. 

“Uh… thanks for telling me?” 

“You’re welcome,” Eddie replies, voice clipped. 

They sit in silence, staring at each other expectantly. 

“That’s what everyone kept saying to me when I came out, I don’t know dude. I’m, uh. Not really equipped for this.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Right, well. No need for a big fucking fuss, just figured I’d let you know, after I— after we— and so you can stop feeling so guilty.” 

“You being gay doesn’t change me feeling guilty, Spaghetti. Just replace Tinder with Grindr and it’s the same argument.” 

“Then just don’t feel guilty. Because I said so. Okay?” 

He has that look again, and Richie feels himself giving in. He throws his hands up. “Oh, okay, great. When you put it like that, suddenly my conscious is clear. Thanks so much.” 

“Richie, look I’m… I’m still figuring shit out, okay? I am in no way looking to date anyone right now, or hook up with strangers, so I literally have nothing better to do than pretend to be dating you. We’re doing this.” 

Eddie’s mouth is set in that stubborn way that says he won’t be convinced of anything Richie says. Richie caves. He sighs dramatically and nods. 

“Okay. Fine. You wore me down again, Spaghetti Head.” 

“Good.” 

Without warning, Eddie stands and rounds the corner of the table. Before Richie can think, Eddie has his face cupped in his hands and is pressing a soft kiss to his lips. 

It’s quick, just a peck really, but Richie’s face is flushed, his veins are on fire, and he can’t help but gape at Eddie when he pulls back. 

“The couple in the corner recognize you,” Eddie murmurs. “They’ve taken like five pictures already. Now go find Bev. I’ll see you tonight.” 

Richie shivers when Eddie kisses him again, hand lingering on Richie’s cheek when he pulls back. Eddie strolls away like it’s nothing, because it _is_ nothing, and Richie is left with prickling skin and a pit in his stomach that feels fifty pounds heavier than it did an hour ago. 

* * *

**Eddie** : when are you guys getting back?

 **Bill Denbrough** : I don’t know. Stan is sort of losing his mind in this park right now.   
**Bill Denbrough** : You should have come, it’s pretty funny to watch. 

**Mike Hanlon** : Yeah he scaled a tree in like fifteen seconds flat. It was impressive

 **Eddie** : ugh   
**Eddie** : richie is with bev, I’m so bored   
**Eddie** : and Ben is fuck knows where

 **Bill Denbrough** : Sorry Eddie.  
 **Bill Denbrough** : Hey Mikey’s coming to pick you up - wait out front

 **Eddie** : thank fuck 

**↣↢**

“What the fuck is he doing?” 

Eddie watches in bemusement as Stanley crawls higher in the tree he’s perched in, head tilted at a weird angle to study something from below. Bill chuckles, and Eddie feels his shoulder shake where the three of them are pressed together to stave off the chill of the morning. 

Mike laughs. “I think he found a nest. I don’t know. He’s texted us to be quiet like ten times.” 

Eddie snorts and shakes his head, sipping the coffee he and Mike picked up on the way to the park. It’s a beautiful day, and the redwoods in the distance are incredible even from here. Bill said they’d been on their way to the redwoods when Stanley found some kind of rare warbler and got distracted. He’s been in the tree ever since. 

“So. How’s it going with Richie?” Bill asks casually, eyes fixed on Stan, who’s trying to take a picture without losing his balance. 

Eddie pulls out his own phone and sets it to record Stan, zooming in on the awkward angle of his neck. He films him for a few moments and laughs, quiet and fond. 

“It’s fine,” Eddie answers. He ends the recording. “It’s… I don’t know. It’s weird.” 

“What’s weird about it?” Mike asks, also suspiciously casual. 

“Just… I don’t know. Pretending to date someone is just _weird_ , especially when it’s someone you’ve known as long as we’ve known each other.” 

Bill nods, takes a sip of coffee and smiles at Stan, who’s now inching further up the tree. “Th-that makes sense.” 

“You guys seem really natural, though,” Mike adds. Eddie just barely catches him bite his lips to keep from smiling. “Like you’re not even faking.” 

“That’s because Richie is a human octopus,” Eddie says. “He hangs off of everyone all the fucking time, it’s not exactly hard.” 

“He doesn’t hang off of everyone. N-not like he d-does with you.” 

Bill and Mike exchange a look, eyes shining gleefully.  
  
“What are you saying?” Eddie says loudly, and it earns him a shush from somewhere in the vicinity of the tree. “What’s so fucking funny?”

“Nothing’s funny Eddie. You guys just seem to be having fun pretending, is all.” 

Eddie glares, but they both maintain neutral expressions. Bill looks away first, eyes flitting over to Stanley again. 

“It… it is fun,” Eddie says, surprising himself as much as Mike. Mike and Bill’s eyebrows raise in creepy synchronicity. He blushes when he remembers kissing Richie in the middle of the lobby, and in Richie’s room, feeling hot all over, and adds, “It’s also a fucking nightmare.” 

“Oh?” Bill asks innocently. Mike glances sideways at Bill with a smile. 

That’s fucking _it_. 

“Okay, _what_?” Eddie snaps. Mike and Bill raise their eyebrows again, and Eddie wants to slap them off of their faces. “You two clearly have something you want to say, out with it. I’m done with this fucking... _tone.”_

“Eddie, we just don’t want to see you get hurt,” Mike says, holding up a conciliatory hand. Bill nods next to him. “You two are playing with fire here.” 

“How?” Eddie demands, and Bill actually smirks. 

“Why don’t you t-tell us, Eddie?” Bill asks. “You just s-s-said it’s a nightmare.”

“Yeah, because— because Richie—” he splutters, and now Mike is grinning. “ _Stop fucking smiling.”_

 _“Shhhh,”_ Stan hisses from the tree. Eddie flips him off. 

“Maybe you should tell him,” Bill says mildly, taking a sip of coffee and staring directly at Eddie. Eddie feels his cheeks burn and stares back defiantly. It’s obviously no use, pretending he’s not completely fucking gone on Richie. He wonders how long they’ve known, if they knew before he did. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Eddie says definitively, jaw clenched to keep his face neutral. 

Bill knocks his shoulder against his. “You sh-should tell him, Eddie. It’ll only get harder if you let this go on without telling him.” 

Eddie makes a face. “Why the fuck did I ask to hang out with you guys?”

“You should do it tonight,” Mike adds, smiling at Bill. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Eddie repeats emphatically, just to shut them up. He focuses back on Stan, who’s now watching the three of them suspiciously rather than the nest. 

“What are you— hey, that’s cheating!” Stan exclaims. 

Three birds take off from the nest above him. Stan swears, loses his grip in his effort to look at them, and falls from the tree and lands flat on his back. 

* * *

**Eddie Spaghetti:** Attachment: Video  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** Attachment: Image

 **Richie:** oh my GOD  
 **Richie:** you’re murdering stanley WITHOUT ME????  
 **Richie** : what the fuck is he doing in the tree oh my god what a weirdo

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** he’s not dead he’s just resting  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** if Patty asks, I was never here

 **Richie** : dont worry baby i’ll cover for you

**↣↢**

“Pattyyy, look what Eddie did to your husband.”

Patty gasps, dark curls pulled halfway into her updo, and snatches the phone from Richie’s hand. 

“What the hell,” she breathes. She presses play, and her mouth curls into a fond smile when she watches the video. “I’ve told him so many times not to climb trees, goddammit.” 

“He’s fine, Eddie says he literally walked it off.” 

“Good. I would’ve hated to have to find a last minute date.” 

She and Richie share a smile, and even in her half put together state she’s radiant. Richie loves her the way he loves all the Losers. She’d crept into his heart the same sweeping way she’d stolen Stanley’s, and it feels as though she’s been with them their whole lives. 

And speaking of radiant women that have stolen his heart — Bev is on the other side of the room in front of the vanity, her hairdresser working her magic on Bev’s red-gold mane. She looks relaxed, smiling softly down at her phone. Eddie must have shared the video with her as well. 

“Aw, Patty, you can borrow Ben for a dance if Stan can’t move later.”

Patty just shrugs, already refocused on her hair. “He’ll be fine. He fell out of a tree twice that size once and bounced right back with some Ibuprofen and an Icy Hot pack. He’s like Gumby.”  
  
Richie wrinkles his nose. “Ew. That borders on some weird kind of sex thing, I’m going over there before this gets disgusting.” 

Richie peels himself off the couch and weaves through the various blow dryers and makeup bags on the floor. Bev scoots over on the vanity seat and pats the spot next to her. He plops down and rests his head on the shoulder not being made up. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi,” she replies. 

She twists and kisses his forehead. “Thanks for spending the day with me. You can leave if the boys are having more fun.”

“No way,” Richie says. “I’ll deny I ever said it, but you were always the most fun in the group anyway, Molly Ringwald.” 

She tilts her head down to rest against his, and her eyes are watery when she speaks. “I know I’ve said it already, but thank you for giving me away today.” 

“Stop it, seriously. I can’t cry again, we haven’t even gotten there yet,” Richie says, feeling his eyes well up all the same. He plucks her mimosa out of her hand and takes a long swig. 

“No. I mean it. Thank you,” she continues softly. “I love you.” 

“I love you too. And you’re welcome, are you kidding, I should be thanking you for letting me do it. It’s not even a question,” Richie says. “It may be the only time I get to walk down the aisle, you know.”

“Shut up. I’m going to return the favor and walk you down the aisle at your wedding if it kills me, Tozier.” 

They both wipe at their eyes, and Bev laughs thickly. “God, this is gonna be fun.” 

“It’s gonna be a _blast,_ ” Richie agrees. “It’s not a party without some tears.” 

“Ugh. Let’s talk about something else,” she says, looking up and blinking hard to keep the tears from ruining her makeup.

“Oh thank god. Eddie _kissed me,”_ Richie moans, turning slightly to wrap his arms around Bev’s waist and bury his face in her neck pathetically. “He kissed me, Bev. _Again._ ”

“Oh sweetie,” Bev says. She worms one of her arms out of Richie’s embrace to wrap it around his shoulders. “I warned you this would happen.” 

“I _know,”_ Richie whines. “Please save the lecture though, I am _dying_. Like, you’re gonna find my body somewhere in the middle of the reception tonight and I’m going to ruin your whole wedding.” 

“Is he always this dramatic?” Bev’s hairdresser asks. He lifts his head enough to see them share a smile in the mirror. 

“Hey, it’s _complicated,_ okay Lydia?” Richie says. She just smiles wider, focused on curling Bev’s hair. “Help me out here Bev.”

“It _is_ complicated,” she agrees. Lydia raises her eyebrows skeptically. “But Richie is also a dumbass.” 

“Hey!”

“Both things can be true, Richie, I’m sorry.” 

“ _Ugh,”_ Richie groans, resuming his position in Bev’s arms. She strokes his hair until Lydia comes around to his side and he has to move. 

He doesn’t go far; he lounges in the armchair near the vanity, watching lazily as Bev’s hair is transformed. She changes the subject to her honeymoon, for which Richie is grateful. Patty finishes her hair a few minutes later, and she joins Richie on the armchair, perched in his lap while they chat about Ben and Bev’s plans for Hawaii. Richie sips his mimosa and mostly just listens, lost in thought about what’s going to happen tonight, wondering how he’s going to keep from bursting into flame every time Eddie touches him. 

Last night was one thing. No official cameras, so they kept it low key, barely more touching than what’s customary for them. Tonight is when they’ll get the pictures that will transition rumors into fact, and tomorrow he will have to read headlines that say “Richie Tozier confirmed to be dating childhood best friend, Eddie Kaspbrak.” He’ll have to read articles expounding on their love story, which, if it were true, is a depressingly fucking good one. Fans will eat it up, his career will probably boom, and he’ll be forced to carry it out indefinitely, trapping Eddie with him in this hellish charade. 

Except it’s not hellish for Eddie, apparently. Eddie’s just doing him a favor. He obviously thinks nothing of kissing him in the middle of the hotel, or of holding his hand, or pressing back into Richie’s chest so Richie can feel his heartbeat against his — christ, that nearly killed him. Eddie will be fine. Eddie will keep kissing him and touching him and Richie will sustain himself with the morsels of the fantasy until it tears him apart, seam by seam. 

“Rich.” 

Richie blinks, brought back to the present by Bev’s voice. She’s nearly ready, face half made up, and so beautiful Richie’s already on the verge of crying again. 

“Yeah?” 

“Your phone’s going crazy babe.”

Richie’s phone vibrates three times in quick succession on the end table. He taps Patty’s arms and she climbs off his lap to join Bev at the vanity. 

**Eddie Spaghetti:** you fucking liar  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** Patty just texted me she’s pressing charges for the murder of her husband  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** ALLEGED murder, for anyone reading this  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** you’re dead. allegedly.   
**Eddie Spaghetti:** ignore me all you want it won’t save you  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** we’re back and mike and bill ditched me again. stan is resting and ben is still MIA  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** what are you doing  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** can I come over  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** I didn’t mean it  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** I won’t kill you before the wedding I promise

“What’s so funny over there?” Patty asks, glancing back at Richie. He’s staring at his phone, idiotic grin on his face that he’s powerless to stop. 

“If he asked, I think I’d cut out my heart and all my vital organs and give them to him,” Richie says with a sigh. 

“Okay,” Patty says slowly. She exchanges a look with Bev, and tiptoes through the mess in the room to where Richie is _still_ smiling down at his phone. “I think that’s enough day drinking for you.” 

She takes the glass in Richie’s hand and sets it down before craning her neck around to read over Richie’s shoulder. 

“Eddie wants to come over,” Patty says, swatting playfully at Richie’s shoulder when he twists the phone out of view. 

“Yeah, tell him to come!” Bev exclaims. 

“You two just like watching me suffer,” Richie complains, fingers already typing out a response. 

“Yep,” Bev chirps happily without looking up from lining her lips.

 **Richie:** bev says you can come play  
 **Richie:** ive been cut off tho so you have to bring me booze

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** no fucking way   
**Eddie Spaghetti:** you have to be upright to walk Bev down the aisle, I won’t have you embarrass her. or me  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** I found Mike and Bill, I’m bringing them too

“Uh, okay we’re gonna have more company than just Eddie,” Richie announces just as there’s a knock at the door. 

Eddie, Mike, and Bill barrel into the room like a herd of buffalo, cheering and whooping loudly, and it’s immediately clear they’re not the only ones that have been drinking. They crowd around Bev and tell her how beautiful she looks, and pull Patty into their arms to shower her with compliments as well. Eddie hugs Bev from behind and stays there, protecting her hair from being ruined by their rowdiness. Richie’s heart melts right out of his body at the sight. 

“Alright, who let my husband fall out of the tree?” Patty asks with Bill’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. Bill, Mike, and Eddie explode with explanations and excuses and Bev cracks up, nearly smearing her eyeliner from laughing so hard. 

Once they calm down, the five of them settle around the room to keep Bev company while she puts on the finishing touches. Patty leaves when she’s finished her makeup to check on Stan, and Richie finds himself cuddled on the couch with Eddie’s feet in his lap, Bill and Mike in the armchairs. 

“I feel bad for Ben,” Eddie says. 

“Why?” Richie asks. He rests the hand not holding his mimosa (suck it Patricia) on Eddie’s ankle. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, engrossed in some game on his phone that he swears he’s not addicted to. 

“Because we’re all here, and he’s banished because of a dumb arcane tradition,” Eddie explains. 

“He’s fine,” Bev says with a wave of her hand. “He insisted on building our wedding arch himself, he’s been finishing it all day.” 

Richie snorts. “Isn’t an arch like, way below his pay grade? I thought he was mister hotshot architect.” 

Bev shrugs. “He insisted.”

“Well now I feel bad,” Mike says. “We should’ve been helping him.” 

“Trust me Mike, you wouldn’t wanna do that,” Bev says with a laugh. “Ben’s a sweetheart ninety-nine percent of the time, except when he’s working on a project, and then he’s a little pissbaby.” 

“You’re j-joking,” Bill says. 

“Nope,” Bev says. “Ask him about the fight we got into putting together a bookshelf some day. He’ll go red as a tomato.” 

Patty returns a little later to help Bev get into her dress. They each kiss Bev goodbye and return to their respective rooms to shower and change themselves, and Richie is surprised to find he’s kind of nervous about the ceremony, more than he ever has been for any of his shows (save for the one where he came out, looking like a drowned rat with the amount he was sweating). Like that show, this is something that actually matters, and he’s practically shitting himself. 

An hour later his hair is dried, scruff shaved, suit pressed and on his body with all the pieces in the right order. He waits for Bev in the lobby of the hotel, pacing the floor nervously, like this is _his_ fucking wedding. He’s just about to go find her when his phone buzzes. 

**Eddie Spaghetti:** I asked Ben about the bookshelf incident  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** Attachment: Image

Richie snorts. Ben _is_ red as a fucking tomato, eyebrows furrowed irritably at the camera. He still looks fucking amazing, and Richie tugs at his own suit jacket self consciously. 

**Richie:** tsk tsk, upsetting the groom on his big day  
 **Richie:** you should be ashamed

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** whatever. I'm bored. tell Bev to hurry up   
**Eddie Spaghetti:** that’s obviously a joke don’t rush her. she scares me

Bev appears before Richie can allow himself to be endeared that Eddie misses him (that’s _basically_ what he said). She’s absolutely stunning in her gown, and Richie is crying before she even crosses the entryway. 

“ _Richie,_ stop that,” Bev scolds. Patty is smiling behind her, carrying her train, also looking gorgeous in her yellow dress. 

“You’re so beautiful, Bev,” Richie says, sniffling and wiping at his face for the third time today. 

“Thank you,” she says, and pulls him down to kiss his cheek. She wipes the lipstick away and keeps her hand on his face. “You ready?” 

“What— _you’re_ the one getting married!” Richie points out. 

Bev rolls her eyes and loops her arm through his. “Come on, you big sap. Show time.” 

* * *

Normally, Eddie hates outdoor weddings. The weather is never good; he’s been to a New York wedding in the middle of January, and a Florida wedding in the dead of July, and both were miserable as fuck. It’s either sticky and sweltering or freezing, and there are bugs and unpredictable storms, and it could all be avoided by just getting married inside like fucking adults. 

But today, he’s proven wrong. The venue is gorgeous — they’re surrounded by redwoods in a natural clearing, and the sky is clear and blue. The arch Ben built stands between two of the towering trees, adorned with an array of red flowers, red petals scattered down the aisle. Ben himself is an adorable pacing mess at the altar, and Eddie snaps a few shots of him with his phone. Stan and Bill sit on either side of him in the front row, with spaces for Richie and Patty between them, and they chat idly as they wait for Bev to arrive. 

There aren’t a lot of guests, but Eddie catches sight of their photographer getting some shots of the arch and the aisle before Bev walks down it. He stiffens a little and fidgets in his seat. Tonight will either make or break Richie’s reputation, and he feels heavy and restless. 

Before long, the rest of the guests are taking their seats, and Ben finally stops pacing and stands next to their minister. ["Somewhere Over the Rainbow"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BeKhlUzPUc) starts to twinkle from somewhere nearby. 

Everyone stands, and Eddie’s breath catches when he sees Richie and Bev. 

Bev is beaming, breathtaking in her simple lace gown, arm linked with Richie. And Richie… he has the same reaction he’d had seeing Richie in that suit the first time, only now his hair is neat and his facial hair is shaved and Eddie can barely handle it. The closer he gets, the more evident it is that Richie can barely handle what’s happening either. His free hand keeps reaching up to wipe at his face and readjust his glasses. Patty brings up the rear with Bev’s train, radiant and lovely in her long yellow gown, and he’s sure the disgusting sappy smile on Stan’s face at the sight of her is mirrored on his own face. 

Richie and Bev reach Ben, who’s staring at her like she lit the stars, his own eyes brimming with tears. Richie kisses Bev’s cheek and gives her hand to Ben, then leans in and kisses Ben’s cheek as well. Richie takes Patty’s arm and leads her over to the chairs, and then he’s settling in next to Eddie. 

“Keep it together, Tozier,” Eddie whispers when Richie tears up again watching Ben press a kiss to Bev’s hand. 

“Shut up,” Richie hisses. He looks at Eddie, smiling beautifully, and Eddie can’t help but reach up and brush away the tears. 

Richie softens even more, and when Eddie removes his hand, Richie grabs it in his own and holds it tight throughout the whole ceremony. 

* * *

Eddie doesn’t let go of his hand. Richie is eighty percent sure it’s his hand that won’t stop sweating, and still Eddie doesn’t let go. 

Eddie’s thumb brushes over his knuckles idly during the vows; Richie cries through the whole thing, and doesn’t pull it together until they exchange rings. When he looks over, he sees everyone’s eyes are a little misty, including Eddie’s, and feels marginally better about himself. 

Finally they’re pronounced, and Eddie drops his hand to clap and whistle along with everyone when Ben kisses Bev to seal the deal. All of the Losers stand when they make their way back down the aisle, whooping louder than any of the other guests, and Bev blows them all a kiss. 

Richie jumps when Eddie takes his hand again. He’s smiling, eyes soft and teary, and Richie wants to kiss him so bad it makes his stomach hurt. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asks without thinking, voice pitched low so that the murmuring crowd around them waiting to make their way down the aisle can’t hear him. 

Eddie’s eyes widen; he glances down at their hands, and then at the photographer poised at the end of the aisle taking everyones picture as they leave. Richie’s stomach drops unpleasantly until Eddie nods shyly at him. 

Richie dips down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, barely any pressure. Eddie responds by leaning into his side, hand tightening around Richie’s, and opens his mouth just enough to make Richie’s breath hitch before he pulls away. Eddie smiles again at Richie, and tugs on his hand to lead them down the aisle. 

He barely notices the flash of the camera as they leave. 

**↣↢**

Everything is fine until the reception. 

The Losers hang around to take pictures with Ben and Bev. Richie feels jittery when he and Eddie take a few solo pictures, posing like fucking teenagers at the prom. When pictures are done, they find their seats in the reception hall and wait for Ben and Bev to be announced to the room as husband and wife. 

They drink, and eat, and drink some more, and Richie finally feels some of his nerves fade, smoothed away by the alcohol swimming in his veins. He watches dopily as Ben and Bev have their first dance (to [“Can’t Help Falling in Love”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GR6L_C0Ii6s), of course, the cliche fucks) and lays his head on Eddie’s shoulder. 

“Watch it, you’re gonna get hair in my cake,” Eddie snipes, but he doesn’t shrug him off. 

“At least it’s clean,” Richie says, words thick in his throat. 

Ben pulls Bev close and kisses her cheek, and Richie sighs. “Do you think that’ll ever be us?” 

He feels Eddie stiffen under his cheek. “Us?” 

“Yeah, like. Think we’ll ever get married — _again_ , in your case. Or be even half as happy as those fucks.” 

“I… don’t know, Rich,” Eddie says tightly. 

“I don’t think we will,” Richie says mournfully. Eddie laughs. 

“Jesus, dude, that’s bleak.” 

Richie nuzzles a little closer. Eddie gives up on his dessert and leans back in his chair so Richie doesn’t have to arch his neck so much. 

“I jus’ mean. _I_ won’t. I’m ruined forever.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Eddie asks. 

Richie’s too drunk to come up with a plausible lie. “ _You_ ruined me, Eddie Spaghetti. I’ll never love another. Only you.”

Eddie lets out a soft gasp that Richie wouldn’t have heard if his head wasn’t buried in his shoulder. 

“And your mother.”

“Okay, you’ve had enough,” Eddie says. “You’re even dumber when you drink.”

Eddie reaches for Richie’s drink on the table and hands it to a nearby waiter; Richie groans and picks his head up. The song ends, and Richie’s protests are lost in the din of the crowd clapping. Ben makes a beckoning motion with his hands to the room at large, and several people stand up and join them on the dance floor, including Stan and Patty. 

A slow cover of [“Time After Time”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5yKwYaq5Kf4) starts to play, and Eddie snorts next to him. 

“Where the fuck did this DJ come from, honestly—” 

“Dance with me.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it. But his tongue is loose and Eddie looks so fucking good, unkempt and relaxed in a way he so rarely allows himself to be, and Richie can’t get enough. His tie is loose, his suit jacket discarded, and he’s stopped using so much gel in his hair; it’s even more touchable looking than usual. 

Eddie flushes, completing the image in a way that makes Richie’s fingers itch for his camera, mouth slightly agape. 

“What?”  
  
“We should— the photographer is out there,” Richie says, nodding his head at the dance floor. “And I promised you a slow dance,” he adds with an eyebrow waggle. 

“Right, I know,” Eddie says. He blinks at Richie a few more times, and slowly nods. “Yeah, okay.” 

Richie stands, and surprisingly the world doesn’t spin on him. He feels steady on his feet when he offers Eddie his hand with an exaggerated flourish. Eddie rolls his eyes but he’s smiling when he takes it, and lets Richie lead him to the dance floor. 

Another cover starts when they’re among the throng of dancers, this time of [“Forever Young”,](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nzdt9vBvSDE) and Eddie shakes his head at Ben over Richie’s shoulder. 

“Unbelievable,” Eddie mutters, shutting up when Richie’s hands land on his waist and tug him close. 

Eddie wraps his hands around Richie’s neck at first; he frowns a little and shifts to take one of Richie’s hands ballroom style. 

“We’re not fucking fourteen,” he explains, avoiding Richie’s eyes. 

For his part, Richie is fucking floating, high off the feeling of slowdancing with Eddie Kaspbrak to one of the most signifcant love ballads of his childhood. Eddie looks up at him, cheeks rosy in the dim light of the dance floor, and shuffles closer to curl his hand more securely on Richie’s shoulder. 

“Twenty bucks says next song is some New Kids on the Block bullshit,” Eddie says with a grin. 

“My money is on an acoustic ‘Take On Me’, actually,” Richie argues, leading Eddie around the floor more smoothly than he’d been anticipating. Bev catches his eye and winks, and he steadfastly ignores her in favor of watching Eddie laugh. 

“God, these assholes,” Eddie laughs. “‘Losers’ has never been more apt.” 

“What if I told you I helped with the playlist?” Richie asks, a permanent grin now playing at the corners of his lips. 

“I’d say that’s exactly on par with what I expect from you, Trashmouth,” Eddie retorts. 

The light from the disco ball shimmers over Eddie’s face, shining off the thin white scar on his cheek and accentuating his dimples, and Richie is about five seconds from either saying something stupid or scaling one of the redwoods and jumping off.

The song changes into something neither of them predicted or even recognize, and neither make a move to pull apart. Eddie keeps up the steady circular pace they’ve been moving in; Richie follows his lead, forcing himself to stay calm when Eddie presses closer and leans his head on Richie’s shoulder. 

“The photographer is right over there,” Eddie murmurs once he’s safely tucked in Richie’s neck. His breath ghosts over his skin; Richie closes his eyes tight. 

“Okay,” he says, strangled. 

They keep swaying, and this time Richie notices the flash when the camera goes off. He wonders idly how much this guy will get from Rob for these photos, and swallows the sour taste in his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, Eds,” Richie says quietly. 

Eddie shifts. Richie feels the tip of his nose brush against his throat. “What for?” 

“For… dragging you into this shit,” Richie explains. He feels Eddie’s intake of breath and keeps going before he can interrupt. “I know, you agreed, or offered, whatever, but shit’s gonna get ugly and you don’t deserve that.” 

Eddie stiffens in his arms, and it reminds him horribly of Neibolt, of carrying Eddie’s still body out and the countless hours in the hospital, curled around him during the endless, uncertain nights. And then Eddie takes a breath, and Richie can already hear the angry retort in his inhale, so he twists around and swallows it with a crushing kiss. 

Eddie makes a noise, probably of dissent at being shut up so unceremoniously, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything he kisses Richie harder, tilting his head for a better angle, and the hand holding Richie’s moves to his neck. This time it’s Richie who deepens the kiss, and Eddie who shudders when Richie’s tongue brushes his bottom lip. 

Richie pulls back to breathe before he does something he’ll regret, pressing his forehead to Eddie’s as the song ends. Eddie keeps his eyes closed, breathing hard. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie,” Richie repeats. 

He lifts a hand to Eddie’s face, brushing his thumb over Eddie’s cheek, lingering on the scar, before tilting Eddie’s chin up with his index finger. Eddie’s eyes are wide and sad, and Richie steals one last selfish, bruising kiss, then breaks away and stumbles out of the reception hall and into the cold night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay some notes:  
> 1\. *ben wyatt voice* it's about.. the tropes...  
> 2\. i have no idea where the opening flashback came from, but those coasters are a real thing and i have some and those commercials were the worst  
> 3\. ben had lines in this one!!  
> 4\. yeah we're adding another chapter because this one got away from me in a big way.  
> 5\. stan is FINE don't @ me  
> 6\. richie would absolutely be a weepy mess at benverlys wedding i stand by this  
> 7\. chapter 3 may be delayed a bit because i so very badly need to work on my big bang. if you see me posting anything before that please punch me in the face  
> 8\. everyone PLEASE stay safe and healthy right now love you all


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sunset has reached its full glory by the time he gives up and settles back to watch it, Eddie’s shoulder pressed against his more firmly than before. The sunlight makes Eddie’s hair and eyes shine gold, brings out the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. Eddie looks over at him after a while and smiles; Richie wants to press a thumb into his dimples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please note the rating change & new tags! wasn't intending on writing smut, as i have like no talent for it, but it just happened so if you're uncomfortable with it, please feel free to reach out on [twitter](https://twitter.com/edskaspbraking) or [tumblr](https://hyruling.tumblr.com/) and i'd be happy to tell you what part to skip :) 
> 
> also just to be on the safe side, there's a hospital flashback that includes some medical talk, but nothing super graphic or anything. 
> 
> i'm sorry for the dirty dancing reference... you'll see what i mean. it's so dumb and out of place but i could not cut it once it was written.

Eddie follows him outside. He can feel him hot on his heels, recognizes the short aggressive breaths. 

Richie bursts through the door to the rose garden outside, immediately surrounded by towering manicured bushes. There’s a massive swan sculpted out of shrubs at the center of a big fountain, and Richie almost laughs at how _extra_ it all is until Eddie catches up to him. 

“Hey. _Richie_ , would you fucking stop for a second?” Eddie demands, a few paces behind him. 

Richie slows, coming to a stop at the edge of the fountain. It’s pretty, with several fancy stone animals spitting water, the edges lit by delicate colored fairy lights. It’s kind of romantic, he thinks, before wondering if it’d be deep enough to drown himself in. 

Eddie stops too, his footsteps halting a foot or two behind him. Richie stares at the stupid swan and breathes, trying to remember the pattern Eddie taught him. _Inhale for five, exhale for five._ Or was it three?

“You gonna look at me or what?” Eddie asks. 

“Nope,” Richie answers. As he probably should have predicted, Eddie’s hand lands on his shoulder and turns him around anyway. 

“Where are you going?” Eddie asks, hand falling from Richie’s shoulder. “The reception’s barely even started, Bev will kill you.” 

“I just… I needed some air.” 

“Okay,” Eddie says patiently. “Was it… did I do something?” 

“No,” Richie says quickly, then winces, the truth bubbling from his mouth out of his control. “Yes.” 

Eddie looks pained. “Then tell me, Rich. So I don’t make you uncomfortable again.”

It’s so earnest, so painfully considerate that Richie wants to rip his fucking hair out with how much he loves him.

“I can’t do this, Eddie,” Richie says, harsher than he intended. Eddie’s face falls before he catches himself and looks away; it strengthens Richie’s resolve to put an end to this. “We shouldn’t have— we should never have done this. I should never have done this with you.” 

Eddie visibly reels back, and Richie feels sick. 

“Well it’s a little late for that,” Eddie snaps, expression hard where it was open and vulnerable not five seconds ago. 

“You’re the one that insisted, Eddie,” Richie argues, shoving his hands deep in his pockets so he doesn’t reach for Eddie like he wants to. “I’ve thought this was a bad idea from the fucking start.” 

“Right, such a fucking terrible idea,” Eddie says, squaring his shoulders. “You should have been honest from the fucking beginning then Rich, if the idea of doing this with me was so fucking repulsive to you.” 

“It’s not _you_ , Eds,” Richie lies. 

“Fuck off, of course it is, you just _said it,_ ” Eddie says. Richie’s heart stops and starts again with a painful thud right in his throat. “You had no problem with the idea of asking Bill, it was only when I suggested you date _me_ that you lost your shit.” 

“That’s not true,” Richie says, still lying. He doesn’t know why he bothers when Eddie so clearly sees right through him. 

“It is,” Eddie retorts. “And it’s— you don’t have to explain yourself, okay? You don’t have to tell me what the fuck your problem with me is, I just wish you’d told me sooner.” 

“I couldn’t tell you, Eddie, how could I?” Richie asks. Eddie’s big dumb doe eyes widen, sad and shocked, and it takes everything he has not to fall to his knees and beg Eddie to never look at him like that again. “You’re my best friend, I couldn’t do that to you, it would— fuck, it’d ruin everything.” 

“Ruin everything?” Eddie repeats, voice smaller than before. He really is about to fucking vomit in this obnoxious fountain. 

“Yes,” Richie admits. 

He’s fucking done for. Eddie’s looking right through him; Richie’s cut himself open, love written all over his insides, spilling out onto the ground between them, carved in his ribs and pulsing with every beat of his heart, and judging by the look on his face, Eddie sees it all. 

“Hey!” 

Over Eddie’s shoulder, Richie sees Stan coming towards them. Eddie doesn’t look away from Richie’s face, and for as exposed as Richie feels, Eddie is a closed book. Emotionless, shut off. 

“There you went, we’ve been looking everywhere,” Stan is saying as he gets closer. 

He slows when he notices the tension, looking between Eddie and Richie carefully. 

“Everything okay?” Stan asks quietly. 

“Fine,” Eddie says, voice clipped. “We were just heading back in.” 

He twists on his heel and books it back inside. The moment he’s out of sight Richie turns and vomits in the fountain; Stan sighs, deep and long-suffering beside him. 

“Alright Rich, breathe,” Stan says when Richie’s done puking up his guts. Stan puts a hand to the back of Richie’s neck, and he hadn’t realized he was hyperventilating until Stan instructs him quietly, “Deep breaths, come on.” 

“I’m so fucking stupid, Stan,” Richie gasps, still hunched over the fountain, trying not to look too closely at the mess he’s made of the water. He pulls his glasses off to be sure he won’t, and sets them on the edge. 

“Well at least you’re finally admitting it,” Stan says evenly, hand massaging Richie’s neck gently. “What did you do?” 

“He knows,” Richie says, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “Fuck, he like, _knows_ knows, Stan.” 

He lets Stan turn him around to sit on the edge of the fountain, keeping his hand on Richie’s neck. “So you told him?”

“I— basically, yes.” 

Stan stares. “What exactly does ‘basically’ mean?” 

“Well, I told him I was ruined for everyone else and that he was it for me, so I think I was pretty fucking clear,” Richie says sardonically. 

“Okay,” Stan starts slowly. “I need you to be even more specific than that.” 

“What? How could I be more specific than ‘hey Eds, by the way, you’re the love of my life, let's fake kiss about it’?”

“See, right there,” Stan says, taking his hand off Richie’s neck to point a finger at him. “You tend to hyperbolize, Rich. Did you _actually_ tell Eddie you’re in love with him? Without any irony? So that he knew, without a doubt, you weren’t just using humor as a defense mechanism?”

“Jesus. You missed your calling as a shrink, Staniel,” Richie says. 

“Keep deflecting, you’re literally just proving my point.” 

“ _No_ , okay? I mean, I did say all that, but he thought I was full of shit at first cause I’m drunk,” Richie admits. “But trust me dude, he knows now, okay? I told him I couldn’t do this anymore because it would ruin everything, and he _knows,_ I could just tell.” 

“So if I went to ask him right now what happened—?”  
  
“I would drown you in this vomit filled fountain Stan, don’t fucking test me,” Richie says severely. Stan just lifts the corner of his mouth in that dumb half smile of his. 

“Don’t assume anything Richie, okay?” Stan says sagely. “Talk to him before you let yourself wallow any more.” 

“Maybe when my head stops trying to explode,” Richie says. 

Stan snorts and stands, pulling Richie up with him. “Come on. Water, and Advil, and then you’re gonna suck it up until the reception is over. Bev’s waiting for her dance.” 

* * *

Richie barely touches him the rest of the night. 

Eddie sees him come in with Stan, looking drawn and a little pale and yet still unbelievably good (that fucking _suit._ Fucking _Beverly._ ) Richie avoids their table, where Eddie is nursing yet another vodka soda, his second (third?) since he came back in alone. Richie spares one miserable glance at Eddie before smoothly turning on the charm and sweeping Beverly onto the dance floor for their dance. 

Eddie watches, and drinks, and it does nothing to quell the sour taste of rejection, the bitter self loathing poisoning his mood. He was an idiot to go along with this and think he’d be fine, or to hope Richie would ever…

Nope. He can’t keep going down that road, not with Bev’s photographer hanging around and reminding him why he’s here. That no matter what his other subconscious hopes might have been with this whole thing, he agreed to do this to help Richie because he fucking loves the asshole. It won’t look good if he’s photographed sulking while Richie’s off dancing with Bev and they don’t even make eye contact the rest of the night. 

The DJ plays “The Time Of My Life”, and Richie’s big smile stretches impossibly wider across his stupid face. He immediately tries to lift Bev into the Dirty Dancing pose and fails, and they laugh and laugh when he catches her and spins her around instead. And he may be heartbroken and burning with jealousy, but he’s never been one to be outdone, or to be able to resist his inexplicable urge to be the center of Richie’s attention.

Also he’s drunk, and the half formed idea in his head is sounding like the best idea he’s had all night. 

“Hey, Ben,” Eddie calls, drawing Ben’s attention away from laughing at Richie trying to pick Bev up again. 

“What’s up Eddie?” Ben asks, flushed from the alcohol and the sickening happiness he must feel with that new ring on his finger.  
  
Eddie swallows the jealousy and nods at Richie, who’s finally managed to at least throw Bev over his shoulder. “Think you could lift me up?” 

Ben’s grin widens; you’d never know it with Richie in the same room, but Ben was always up for a good prank, would go along with almost anything any of them cooked up. Eddie can tell he’s already in. 

“Make sure you get a good running start,” Ben says, setting down his champagne flute and pulling off his suit jacket in one smooth movement. 

Ben makes his way to the other end of the dance floor, right next to Richie and Bev twirling around wildly. Mike and Bill look over from where they’re dancing nearby with their eyebrows raised, but Ben doesn’t give anything away, just bends his knees slightly in preparation. Eddie stands and rolls his shoulders exaggeratedly, does a few quad stretches, and that’s what finally catches Richie and Bev’s attention.

“Patty, we should get the first aid kit ready,” Stan deadpans from Eddie’s left, still seated at their table. 

“Fuck you Stan,” Eddie says without looking over. 

His eyes are glued to Richie’s wide grin, watching Eddie rev up and wait for the right part of the song. There’s no trace of emotion other than glee in Richie’s expression, and that solidifies the pit in his stomach until it sinks and aches. He knows Richie is good at deflecting and pretending to be okay when he’s not, but he’s not that good of a liar. Richie’s fucking _fine,_ and Eddie’s the asshole who let himself get hurt in this stupid scheme. 

“Yeah Spaghetti!” Richie roars, hands cupped around his mouth so that the entire room hears him. 

Eddie flushes, and maybe Richie broke his heart tonight but that stupid broken heart still lives for Richie’s smile, and his stupid broken brain still craves Richie’s attention, and makes him do shit like this that has about a fifty-nine percent chance of landing him in the hospital. 

Richie and Bev have given up dancing in favor of watching Eddie, as have many of the guests, including Bill and Mike. He gears up, and lets the alcohol in his system drown out any sense of rationality and the voice telling him he’s wasting his time, and just as the tempo of the song picks up again he takes off running. 

He hears cheering, mostly from Richie but also from others in the crowd, and focuses on not tripping on the slippery floor. 

Ben grips his waist when he reaches him, and Eddie plants his hands on Ben’s shoulders for leverage and straightens his body as much as he can. Ben actually lifts him all the way above his head, and the cheers become deafening when they manage to hold the position for all of four seconds before Ben laughs too hard and drops him. 

Ben helps break his fall, but it’s Richie’s arms he collapses back into, and the wheezy nasally laughter is suddenly right in his ears, and the splintering in his chest is piercing again. 

“Holy shit dude, how drunk are you?” Richie is gasping, arms circled around Eddie from behind, chest pressed to his back. “Where the fuck did that come from?” 

Eddie spins in his grip; Richie doesn’t miss a beat, pulling him close to finish out the song, and for a second it’s as if the conversation in the garden never happened. 

And then the camera flashes. 

Richie stiffens, and his expression drops. Eddie pulls away, hoping it looks natural now that the song is ending, and offers a strained smile. 

“Sorry,” he mutters to Richie. “I’ll just…” 

“Eddie,” Richie says quietly, but the alcohol is turning his mood again and Eddie can’t hear his voice anymore tonight. He can’t even look at him.

“I’m gonna go find Stan,” Eddie says, and then he turns before Richie can respond. 

Bev is looking at him when he turns around, grin splitting her face, and he lets her pull him into a huge hug and smiles at all the right times when she tells him how hilarious that was, the highlight of the reception, for sure, and makes himself ignore the ache in his chest. He won’t ruin her wedding. 

_It would ruin everything._

He extricates himself from her gracefully and stalks back to the table, ears ringing with Richie’s words. He blocks everything and everyone out, moving with purpose back to the safety of the table. Stan and Patty aren’t at the table anymore, and he lets out a sigh of relief that he can be alone. 

When he’s settled back at the table, he scans the dance floor, but Richie is nowhere to be found. He doesn’t see him for the rest of the night. 

* * *

**Eddie Spaghetti:** you alright?

 **Richie:** yeah  
 **Richie:** drank too much, im back at the hotel. bev was cool with me leaving early  
 **Richie:** party still goin?

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** not really. Stan and Patty just left, lots of other people have gone home  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** Mike and Bill still going hard though, and Ben  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** Bev is just watching Ben dance with Mike and Bill all smiley 

**Richie:** gross. i love them  
 **Richie:** hey  
 **Richie:** we good?

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** yeah. I’m sorry for pushing you into this  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** I should have listened when you said you didn’t want to do this with me.

 **Richie:** eds you didnt push   
**Richie:** i could have ended it sooner. i should have. 

**Eddie Spaghetti:** right. I know, I get it now. 

**Richie:** are u mad?

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** no. 

**Richie:** liar

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** fucking go to bed dude, its fine. We’re good.

 **Richie:** eds come on  
 **Richie:** you know they say couples should never go to bed mad 😜

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** we can talk more tomorrow.  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** I have to get these drunk dumbfucks home in one piece.   
**Eddie Spaghetti:** goodnight Richie. 

**Richie:** night spaghetti. im sorry

**Message not delivered.**

**Richie:** fuck. 

**Message not delivered.**

* * *

Eddie doesn’t open it up to talking the next morning, however. In fact, he barely even looks at Richie as the eight of them have breakfast together, choosing instead to give unsolicited travel advice to Ben and Bev, firing off facts and tips faster than anyone other than the people at this table could ever keep up with. 

“—and put something distinctive on your luggage, like a bright name tag or something so you don’t accidentally take someone else’s bags, it could be full of like, drugs or illegal food or kids clothes, and then you won’t have any fucking underwear for the whole trip. And make sure you wipe down everything on the plane, okay? You wouldn’t believe the kind of germs people bring with them on planes, and there’s nowhere for that air to go when people sneeze. It just stays there, all stagnant and shit, and you don’t want to get sick on your honeymoon from someone else’s snot just fucking loose in the plane air.” 

“Eddie, you do realize you are getting on a plane yourself in like, six hours?” Stan interrupts, and Eddie takes his first real breath in a good ten minutes. “As are all of us, _and_ we’re trying to eat.” 

“I’m just saying,” Eddie says, holding his hands up in a conciliatory gesture, and another buried memory of a rant very similar to this hits him like a sucker punch, only it involved grey water and staph infections rather than airplane germs. 

They still sneak up on him like this sometimes. Just when he thinks he’s remembered everything, another one breaks through and steals his breath away. He’s starting to think they’ll never stop. 

“Well say something else,” Stan says, interrupting his literal trip down memory lane. 

Patty interrupts to ask Ben a question about the caterer or the florist maybe; Richie’s not really paying attention, because Eddie is gearing up to argue and he can never resist an Eddie blow up. Unfortunately for him, Patty’s diversion works, and the subject changes before Eddie can get another word in, choosing instead to irritably stab at his sausage and eggs. 

They don’t talk after breakfast. They don’t talk at the airport, where they see Ben and Bev off, and drop Patty and Stan at their gate for their flight back to Georgia. They also don’t talk at their own gate, because Bill and Mike are both flying home to LA with them. Apparently, Mike is going to stay with Bill “for awhile”, which is news to them both. Richie raises his eyebrows when Mike settles in next to Bill in the lounge area; Bill avoids his eyes. 

“How long is ‘awhile’?” Eddie asks suspiciously, sharp eyes darting between the two of them. 

Mike is calm and just shrugs, looking sideways at Bill. Bill, much to Richie’s delight, is blushing furiously. 

“Not sure yet,” Mike says. “I’ve never seen California, except for this place, so.” 

“So you’re choosing LA for your next grand adventure?” Eddie asks with a quiet scoff. “There’s way better places in California to see than LA, Mike.” 

“Is that so?” Bill asks, obviously picking up on Eddie’s tone even if Mike isn’t. Richie watches the exchange with barely concealed delight when Eddie’s cheeks also go pink. “Remind me, where exactly d-did you choose to m-m-move to after your divorce again?” 

Eddie narrows his eyes while Mike and Richie laugh, and Eddie elbows him sharply for it, the most he’s touched him since the reception. 

“Fuck you Bill.” 

Bill just raises his eyebrows and lowers his eyes back to his laptop, where he’s working on editing his latest novel with Mike’s help, and they spend the rest of their time until boarding with their heads close together, ignoring Richie and Eddie. 

Richie’s opening disappears in the next moment though, when Eddie rifles through his carryon and pulls out his noise cancelling headphones, a clear dismissal. He leaves them in the whole flight. 

**↣↢**

They get home safely after the short flight in which Eddie only speaks to offer Richie a piece of gum when his ears won’t pop. Eddie says a halted goodbye to the three of them when his Uber pulls up to the curb, and throws his bags in the trunk carelessly, clearly in a rush to get home, or more likely, away from him. 

“You guys okay?” Mike asks as Eddie disappears around the corner. 

“Peachy,” Richie says, overly chipper. Mike seems to understand his tone and doesn’t push. 

They have a few days to settle back at home before the pictures make it to the media. (A few days in which he doesn’t hear from Eddie at all, except for his stilted responses in the groupchat, but he’s trying not to think about it.) Bev’s photographer has to get them developed, and Bev takes a day or two before forwarding them to Rob, because she is a goddamn angel on earth. Rob texts them that he’s going to leak the pictures the Tuesday after arriving back home, and Richie feels nauseous all day. 

**Bevvie:** hey honey. I know your publicist got a copy of the pictures, did he share any with you?

 **Richie:** bev what the fuck, isn’t it like 3am in hawaii?

 **Bevvie:** jet lag is a bitch, i was awake anyway  
 **Bevvie:** seriously though, have you seen them?

 **Richie:** no

 **Bevvie:** do you want to? I can share the file.

 **Richie:** no thanks bevster. im already on the verge of a nervous breakdown pretty much constantly these days

 **Bevvie:** i figured you would be, thought seeing them might help prepare you   
**Bevvie:** if you really don’t want to see them yet, that’s okay  
 **Bevvie:** still, you should see this one  
 **Bevvie:** Attachment: Image

Richie’s heart bottoms out. 

It’s from early in the reception, when Richie was quietly getting drunk and pining like a fucking moron. They’re at the table, and Richie is leaned over with his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie has his head tilted down, turned towards him with a soft smile, and it just about ruins him to look at for too long. He can’t see much of his own face but he knows he’s smiling, _knows_ in his gut that it’s his stupid Eddie-smile, as Stan has so thoughtfully coined it. _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—_

 **Richie:** hey, we need to shut this the fuck down

 **Rob 🤢:** ???  
 **Rob 🤢:** What are you talking about?

 **Richie:** exactly what i fucking said  
 **Richie:** do not sell these pics dude im serious

 **Rob 🤢:** Richie it's too late  
 **Rob 🤢:** What’s going on, we agreed this was a good plan?

“Goddammit,” Richie swears, throwing his phone on the bed and pulling at his hair in frustration. “Goddammit!” 

That picture is just the beginning. There’s bound to be more just as damning, if not more so, and fuck the whole world seeing them, he can’t let _Eddie_ see them. He’s already spooked him enough, based on the silent treatment he’s received since they got back. Not to mention, Eddie looks hot as shit in that picture, with his hair all loose and wavy, sleeves rolled to his forearm, tie loose, dimples set from stun to kill — this is bound to get him all kinds of creepy fans and stalkers that he doesn’t deserve nor, frankly, have the anger management skills to deal with. 

**Richie:** im serious dude, pull the fucking pictures  
 **Richie:** please

 **Rob 🤢:** I don’t know what to tell you Richie  
 **Rob 🤢:** It’s too late  
 **Rob 🤢:** Buzzfeed already has something written and ready to post, as do 10 other publications

 **Richie:** FUCK.   
**Richie:** this is over.   
**Richie:** nothing else after this, okay?? im serious

 **Rob 🤢:** Richie, calm down, we’ll revisit tomorrow when you’re sober

 **Richie:** oh FUCK you dude  
 **Richie:** fuck it. youre fired

 **Rob 🤢:** WHAT? 

**Incoming Call: Rob 🤢**

**Call Declined**

**Contact Blocked**

  
  


* * *

  
  


**Richie:** eds im so fuckin sorry

 **Eddie Spaghetti:**?

 **Richie:** https://www.buzzfeed.com/alicegregor/richie-tozier-eddie-kaspbrak-wedding-date-offical?origin843927...

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** oh

* * *

**Buzzfeed News**

**By Alice Gregor, Buzzfeed Staff**

**Richie Tozier and Eddie Kaspbrak make it official!**

Well, it’s official! Rumors of the comedian stepping out with his new boyfriend hit the news cycle last week, but last night the pair left little doubt in regards to the nature of their relationship. 

Tozier was photographed with his boyfriend, who Buzzfeed has learned is financial advisor Edward “Eddie” Kaspbrak, at Beverly Marsh’s beautiful private wedding ceremony late last week. 

Beverly and her new husband Ben Hanscom are absolutely stunning in the recently received photographs, but all eyes have been focused on Tozier and Kaspbrak, and for good reason. Just get a load of those pics! 😍

[IMAGE] 

[IMAGE]

[IMAGE]

Sources close to the pair say they recently reconnected after more than 20 years apart. Tozier had long held a candle for his childhood crush, and after a long weekend reunion in September, discovered the feeling was mutual. Aw! 

Not much is known about Kaspbrak, but the internet has taken a quick liking to the handsome risk analyst. Twitter is already aflame with thirst tweets. Better keep an eye on your man, Richie!

Neither Tozier nor Kaspbrak have yet to confirm or deny the relationship, but needless to say - a picture says a thousand words!

**Share this Article: Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest**

* * *

**Eddie Spaghetti:** it’s not that bad, i guess.  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** what are thirst tweets??

 **Richie:** jesus christ

* * *

  
  


Eddie stares at the pictures for so long they start to not look real. The way his reflection doesn't feel real when he looks at it for too long, the way his name starts to sound weird and foreign on his tongue the more he says it to himself. 

He’s never seen himself smile like that, is the thing. 

He’s never seen Richie look so comfortable in his own skin, tucked up in Eddie’s neck, smiling like that — at something Eddie said? At Ben and Bev? He’s not sure. It makes his skin prickle, and if he looks long enough, he can still feel the way Richie’s hair had tickled his neck. 

He can barely think about the other pictures. The one of Richie kissing him as they hold hands in the aisle in particular is haunting him, because it looks way too fucking much like it could be from _their_ wedding. The most tame is the one of them dancing after Eddie’s stupid Dirty Dancing prank with Ben, and it reminds him too much of the way his heartbreak felt that night, fresh and excruciating. 

Not that it’s gotten much better. 

Ben and Bev got back from their honeymoon last night, so Eddie doesn’t feel quite so guilty when he picks up the phone after quietly saving the pictures to his phone. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Ben greets him happily. 

“How did you do it?” Eddie asks, unable to hold it in a second longer. 

“Uh,” Ben says, and Eddie can picture him looking around in confusion. “Can I have some context buddy?”

“Shit, Ben I’m sorry,” Eddie apologizes when he comes to his senses. “Oh my god, you literally just got back from Hawaii and I’m— fuck, I’m sorry, I’m so selfish. Fuck. Hi.” 

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay,” Ben says kindly. God, Eddie loves him. “Obviously you’re upset about something, it’s fine.” 

“I should have at least asked you how it was.” 

“There’s not much else to tell that we didn’t already tell you guys in the groupchat,” Ben says with a laugh. “You know, I think the seven of us may be a little codependent?” 

“Whatever, we’ve earned it,” Eddie says, and Ben chuckles. 

“Yeah, guess we did.” 

It’s quiet for a second, Eddie waiting for the go ahead even though he’s about to explode. 

“Eddie. Talk to me, what’s going on?”

Eddie sighs. “You’re the best, Ben, seriously. Tell Bev sorry, but you’re the _best._ ”

Ben just laughs, humble as always. “Come on. Tell me.” 

“How did you do it?” Eddie repeats, heart thudding in his throat. “How did you… love her for so long and just. Not say anything? And— sorry to bring it up— but how did you watch her and Bill all that time without wanting to tear your face off?” 

Ben is quiet for a moment. “I’m guessing you’re not just asking for your own edification?” he asks gently. 

“No,” Eddie admits miserably. “And I know you know why, you’ve seen the articles. Fuck, you’ve seen the _pictures._ ” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen them Eddie,” Ben says, so sweet Eddie could cry. 

“Did you know?” Eddie asks, because he has to know. “Did all of you know?” 

“I can’t speak for everyone,” Ben answers diplomatically. “But I think… we suspected. _I_ suspected. You two were always, well. RichieandEddie.” 

“Christ. I thought yelling at him constantly was a better cover than it was.” 

“You yelling at him was inevitable, Eddie,” Ben says with a laugh. “Secret feelings or not.” 

“Okay, but how did you manage it?” Eddie asks again. He hangs his head and brings his free hand to his forehead, trying to chase away the tension headache he feels coming on. “How did you deal with it when she didn’t— feel the same?” 

Ben hesitates for longer this time. “Feel the same?” 

“ _Yes,_ ” Eddie says, trying hard not to snap. “Yes, I— I fucked up, Ben. I offered to do this stupid thing to help him, but I think I also secretly hoped it might lead to— but it _didn’t,_ and now I’m here, fucking miserable, and I have to look at these _fucking_ pictures and I’m losing my mind, Ben, I don’t know how— how I can. How I can…” 

He’s powerless to stop the tears, already falling before he even realizes his vision has blurred. 

“Eddie,” Ben says softly when he’s been quiet for a minute or two, he’s not sure. He’s lost track. 

“I know, I’m fucking pathetic,” he says, voice shaky. He clears his throat, wiping at his face angrily. 

“That’s not what I was going to say. You need to talk to Richie.” 

“I tried that. He— he basically rejected me, dude, that’s why I’m calling you instead of him.” 

“He rejected you?” Ben asks, incredulous. “What exactly did he say?” 

“He said— fuck. He said that doing this with me was a mistake, and that I was his best friend and he didn’t say something sooner because it would have ‘ruined everything’, and that he didn’t want to do it anymore.” 

“Eddie…” 

“What?” 

Ben sighs heavily; it crackles like static in Eddie’s ear. 

“You need to talk to him again. I think you misunderstood.” 

“What is there to misunderstand?” Eddie snaps. “He didn’t want to do this with me, because obviously the idea of dating me is just that fucking terrible for him, and he didn’t want to tell me because I’m his best friend and it would have hurt my feelings.” 

“Eddie, come on. You know better than that.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“I want to help you Eddie, but I really think the answer here is to just talk to Richie. Tell him how you feel, clear the air.” 

“No offense, Ben, but you didn’t tell Bev how you felt until you were almost buried alive by a clown.” 

“Then why did you call me for advice?” Ben retorts, not unkindly. “And… I wasn’t the only one who had a near death experience, bud. There’s a lot of things from the hospital you don’t remember.” 

Eddie goes hot and cold all over simultaneously. He tries not to think about that if he can help it, but he can’t help but prod at it now.

“What do you mean?” 

“You should ask Richie what I mean,” is all the answer he gets. 

* * *

There’s been too many nights of this. 

Richie stirs, shifting into a more comfortable position. He’s curled up next to Eddie, same as he was the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that, and so on. Ever since the moment Eddie was stable enough, and his doctor gave their blessing for someone to stay with him overnight, Richie has been right here. 

He watches Eddie breathe, the steady rise and fall of his chest, and it still feels like a fucking miracle. For weeks a machine breathed for him, and they weren’t sure he’d ever be able to breathe on his own again. Richie puts a careful hand on his chest, above his bandage, and revels in the way it moves with Eddie’s breaths. 

He’s still not entirely sure how it started, sleeping curled around Eddie like this. Before, he’d spend his nights hunched over the bed, holding Eddie’s hand through the night until a nurse took pity on him and brought him a spare cot. Still, he rarely used it, because then he couldn’t feel Eddie’s pulse under his fingertips as he fell asleep. 

When Eddie finally came to, he spent essentially the first week confused and high off his ass on pain meds. The first night, when he started to doze off at last after hours of incoherent muttering, Richie had moved to make himself comfortable on the cot when Eddie’s hand shot out to grab Richie’s wrist. 

“Stay,” Eddie had said, eyes heavy but clear, holding Richie’s for a long moment. 

“Okay, Eds,” Richie answered. He perched back on the bed, Eddie’s hand still closed around his wrist. “I’m here, I’m not leaving.” 

“C’mere,” Eddie mumbled, tugging, tugging, tugging… until Richie was practically in his lap. 

“Eddie, I don’t think I can sleep here,” Richie had whispered, even though it killed him to say. His arm wrapped around Eddie’s waist, careful not to jostle his bandage, to keep himself from falling off more than anything. His other arm was tucked under him, a little uncomfortably, but he didn’t dare move until Eddie told him otherwise. “I might pull your IV out or something.” 

“Don’t… don’ you dare fuckin’ move,” Eddie had mumbled, eyes closed, half asleep. It startled a laugh out of Richie, the first one in weeks. 

“Sir yes sir,” Richie said, nestling in close to avoid falling off the edge. 

It happened every night, even as Eddie became more lucid, even when Richie gave him every opportunity to tell him no. They always gave him more drugs at night so he could sleep, and he always, without fail, made room for Richie and reached out for him before dozing off. And Richie, without fail, fell asleep with his nose pressed against Eddie’s pulse point, arm wrapped securely around his waist to feel him breathe. 

There've been too many nights of this, too many nights of Richie falling asleep with the paralyzing fear Eddie won’t wake up with him in the morning. And still, a selfish part of him dreads the day they end and he has to give this up. 

They’re not alone tonight. They often aren't; Stan stays most nights too, taking the cot and watching Richie with shrewd concern, though he blessedly keeps his mouth shut. Bev stays sometimes too, perched on the other side of the bed, stroking Eddie’s hair until he falls asleep. Sometimes it’s Ben, or both of them, trading off so each of them can sleep in a real bed some nights. Mike and Bill stay too, and offer to stay in Richie’s place at least three times a week, but he never takes them up on it. As if he could be anywhere else. 

Tonight is a bad one. Eddie had been looking a little worse the past few days. He looked pale again, where before some color had finally returned to his face. He had physical therapy early in the morning, and barely managed to do any of the stretches or walk more than two feet without crying out in pain. His doctor was called in when he collapsed in the bathroom, and an hour later, after another round of tests and poking and prodding, he was diagnosed with internal bleeding as a result of his most recent surgery. 

Richie had stood by helplessly as they pumped Eddie with vitamin K and platelets, nurses sharing looks between them that to Richie looked grim. Eddie’s doctor assured him it was mild, that Eddie’s vitals were stable, and it should heal quickly with treatment, rest and hydration. He watched as they cleaned his wound thoroughly, rewrapped his chest in fresh bandages while Eddie grimaced in pain.

Eddie had managed to be stoic through the whole process until they were alone. 

“What if I don’t make it, Rich?” Eddie had asked hours later, when the others had retreated to the cafeteria for a late dinner, so softly Richie wasn’t sure he heard him at first.

“What are you talking about? You’re gonna be fine, Eds. Doc said it wasn’t a big deal, remember?” Richie said, trying to instill some fortitude in his voice. He leaned closer and touched Eddie’s hand tentatively. 

“What if I don’t get better?” Eddie said, and then tears were pooling in his big brown eyes, one of Richie’s least favorite sights, by far. “What if I’m in this bed for the rest of my life, just like my— _fuck—_ just like my mother used to say?” 

Richie moved without thinking, stood and gathered Eddie close as best he could in their awkward position. Eddie cried in his shoulder and Richie held back his tears as best he could, held it together for him, tried to be brave enough for the both of them, the way Eddie always was. 

Now, Eddie is finally calm, though even in sleep his eyebrows are more pinched than normal. Richie reaches up and smooths over them with his thumb, and Eddie snuffles and tilts his head towards Richie. It puts his forehead right against Richie’s chin, and he can’t help but press his lips to it, just for a moment. 

“I shouldn’t do that, huh?” Richie whispers to himself. Eddie is definitely out for the count, the way he’s drugged up. “That’s weird, when you’re like, basically still married and asleep and not that into me, you know?” 

Eddie doesn’t answer of course, but it doesn’t stop Richie. He can’t stop, now that he’s started. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. He’s lost count of how many times he’s apologized to Eddie’s sleeping form in the weeks since Neibolt, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. “I’m sorry I’m too chickenshit to say this when you can actually hear me, but... _fuck_. I love you, Eddie. I love you so much it feels like I’m going to die from it sometimes.” 

Ben shifts in his sleep behind him. Richie glances back, but he’s still out, eyes closed and breathing deep and even. When he turns back to Eddie, their position puts Richie’s mouth right at Eddie’s hairline. He smells like cheap hospital shampoo and antiseptics and Eddie. Richie breathes him in deep. 

“I love you, Spaghetti,” Richie repeats, because he might as well get it out of his system. “I’ve loved you my whole fucking life. And I’m gonna get you out of here, and then I’m never leaving you again for the rest of my stupid pathetic life, understand? You’re stuck with me. For as long as you’ll tolerate me, I’m yours, Eddie my love.” 

Richie watches him breathe until his eyes feel heavy. Eddie’s hand finds his in his sleep, and Richie laces their fingers together as he finally drifts into sleep. 

  
  


* * *

**Eddie Spaghetti:** hey  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** are you free this afternoon? 

**Richie:** uh yeah  
 **Richie:** why whats up?

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** do you want to get coffee?  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** not like, for the scheme. just as us. 

**Richie:** “scheme” ur so cute  
 **Richie:** of course eds, just tell me when and where

* * *

Eddie chooses a place on one of the piers. It’s small, not too populated, so they manage to sneak in and order without Richie being recognized. They take their coffee further down the pier and find a deserted area to sit on the edge and hang their feet over, listening to the waves crash and watching as the sun starts its descent in the sky. 

“You’re such a tourist, Eds,” Richie teases him when they’re settled, leaning over to knock his shoulder against Eddie’s. 

“Fuck you, I specifically chose this pier because it’s not tourist heavy,” Eddie retorts, and warmth floods through Richie’s veins. 

“You researched for me? Be still my heart.” 

“Fuck off, or I’ll fucking push you in the water.” 

Richie laughs, catching Eddie smile softly at his lap, and it’s so fucking dangerous to see him in the late afternoon light like this. Even more dangerous when he knows now what Eddie’s lips feel like against his, how he sounds, how he tastes, how he fits in Richie’s arms. It’s enough to drive him insane, and they’ve only been together for ten whole minutes. 

“So. To what do I owe the pleasure of your titillating company?” Richie asks.

“I don’t know, I just… we haven’t seen each other since the wedding, it felt. Wrong, I guess.” 

_Dangerous,_ his brain supplies while his heart races. _This is dangerous_ _fucking ground, retreat._

“That’s so cute Eds, you missed me.” 

“I didn’t say that,” Eddie says, taking a sip of his latte and looking at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“You basically did, but it’s okay, we’ll move on,” Richie says, drinking from his own cup. The coffee feels scalding against his dry throat. 

“Listen, we don’t… we don’t have to talk about the thing. The _scheme,_ ” Eddie elaborates, and Richie wants to make fun of him but his throat is still too fucking dry. 

“Okay, that’s. Okay,” Richie croaks.

“But I wanted to ask you something,” Eddie continues, color rising in his cheeks. 

“Okay… shoot,” Richie encourages, alarm bells sounding off in his head. 

“It’s about… when I was in the hospital,” Eddie starts, and the alarm bells become deafening. “After Neibolt, and Pennywise.” 

“Yeah, I remember, you don’t have to specify,” Richie says shortly with a humorless huff of a laugh. 

Eddie catches his tone and glances sideways at him, continuing, “I just wanted to know, was there… were there things that happened when I was like, out of it?” 

Richie releases a heavy breath, looking out at the water, anywhere but Eddie’s face. “I don’t know, Eds, a lot happened while you were out of it. Ben and Bev hooked up, Bill asked his wife for a divorce. I got all of that second hand from Stan though, fuck if I remember any of it.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Richie laughs humorlessly, and thinks _fuck it_ . “Dude, I was a _wreck_. I barely knew my own name some days, especially before you woke up. I have no idea what happened outside of every detail of your recovery.” 

Eddie inhales sharply, and Richie regrets turning to look at him the second he sees his face. He’s looking at Richie like he’s never actually seen him before. “Rich…” 

Richie shrugs. “It’s true. I probably know more about your medical history than your mom. No, scratch that, I definitely know more than her, cause all her bullshit wasn’t real.” 

Eddie laughs a little at that. “Yeah, good point.” 

They sip quietly, letting that sit between them in the humid ocean air. When Richie chances a look at Eddie he’s already looking back, eyes lighter in the sun, almost gold. Richie can’t look away. 

“Why are you asking about this, Eds?” 

Eddie glances away, keeping his face turned towards Richie. _Look at me again, please look at me again…_

“Ben told me you carried me out of the house,” Eddie says softly, eyes flicking back to Richie’s. 

Richie goes still, jumps when a wave crashes hard against the wood beneath them. Eddie’s still looking at him in that incomprehensible way, and Richie’s never wanted to touch him more than he does right now. They’ve never talked about this; Richie was kind of hoping they never would. 

“I did,” Richie answers finally, throat tight. “I mean… Stan and Mike helped, there was a lot of debris to get around.” 

“But you did it,” Eddie pushes, and Richie nods. “You got me out of there when it would have made more sense to just leave—” 

“That never would have made sense,” Richie interrupts fiercely. He turns, bending his knee so he can look at Eddie straight, and sets his coffee down so he can grab Eddie’s shoulders. “Are you kidding me? We wouldn’t have left you Eds. Never.” 

“I never said thank you,” Eddie says quietly, tears in his eyes.

Richie fights his own, hands falling back to his lap, says, “You don’t have to thank me.” 

“Yes I do,” Eddie insists. “You could have left me, I was almost gone, I was—”

“I couldn’t,” Richie says. “I couldn’t have left you. I would have stayed down there with you rather than leave you there alone Eddie, no matter what.” 

“Richie,” Eddie breathes, equal parts angry and shocked. “Don’t— fuck, don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“I don’t care, don’t— you can’t just...” 

His eyes flick to Richie’s mouth for the briefest of seconds, his hand reaching for Richie’s. Richie’s heart is in his throat when Eddie’s hand touches his. Eddie’s eyes lock back with Richie’s, and—

—And that’s the moment a giant fucking seagull decides to swoop between them and knock Eddie’s coffee all over Richie’s lap. 

“Jesus— what the fuck!” Richie cries, arms flailing wildly as the bird flies off, and when he calms down he realizes Eddie is doubled over in laughter. 

“Holy— shit— your fucking face,” Eddie gasps between shrieking peals of laughter, the kind of uncontrollable laughter that used to drive Richie wild, that he would do anything to elicit when they were kids. “Oh my god, I’m gonna piss myself, holy fuck, Richie—” 

“Dude, I could be seriously hurt here,” Richie says, but he can’t keep the laughter out of his voice, giving in when he can't even look at him without breaking. “That fucking bird could have just destroyed my chances for any future little Richies!”

He gestures to his crotch, thankfully undamaged as the coffee was barely lukewarm when it spilled, and Eddie laughs until there’s no sound, his mouth open and tilted back in unadulterated glee, gasping for breath. Richie joins him, and they laugh until Richie’s stomach hurts, and his cheeks feel like they’re going to split open. 

“Jesus, oh Jesus my lungs hurt,” Eddie gasps when he starts to calm down, clutching at his ribs. “Fuck, I wish I’d gotten that on camera.” 

“God, me too. I’m texting Stan to tell him one of his precious winged rats tried to kill me,” Richie says, taking off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. 

They catch their breath, and Richie does his best to dry his pants with the napkins Eddie thought to bring with them, but it unfortunately looks like he’s the one that pissed himself from laughter no matter what he does. 

The sunset has reached its full glory by the time he gives up and settles back to watch it, Eddie’s shoulder pressed against his more firmly than before. The sunlight makes Eddie’s hair and eyes shine gold, brings out the freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. Eddie looks over at him after a while and smiles; Richie wants to press a thumb into his dimples. 

“Are we okay, Rich?” Eddie asks quietly. 

“Yes,” Richie answers immediately, as if there could ever be another answer. “We’re good.” 

_As long as you’ll tolerate me, I’m yours, Eddie my love._

**↣↢**   
  


**Richie:** sorry for firing rob

 **Steve:** It’s fine Richie. He was kind of a dick anyway. 

**Richie:** he was  
 **Richie:** but his stupid plan kind of worked huh

 **Steve:** Yeah, it did.   
**Steve:** Negative comments are in the single digits now  
 **Steve:** “The Advocate” reached out for an interview.  
 **Steve:** Don't sweat I told them you weren’t interested. 

**Richie:**...think you could call them back?

**↣↢**

Richie waits by his phone for three hours after the interview is posted. 

Eddie doesn’t call. 

Bev is the first one to call, practically yelling in his ear until Ben calms her down and he can explain himself to them both on speaker. Stan and Patty are right behind them, and to save the trouble, he creates a new groupchat sans Eddie to explain himself to Mike and Bill too. Bill asks if Eddie’s called, and then offers to come over “for moral support” when Richie says no. He says thanks but no thanks, the floor isn’t gonna pace itself, and he only wants to see one person right now anyway. 

When Eddie finally texts him, it’s eight o’clock at night and Richie has been a fucking disaster for ten straight hours. 

**Eddie Spaghetti:** I had to work late and I’m too fucking tired to cook so I’m grabbing Chinese at that place by your apartment  
 **Eddie Spaghetti:** you want any?

Richie reads the texts three times before they make sense. His hands are shaking when he types his response. 

**Richie:** didn’t we like all agree to never eat Chinese again after derry horrorshow part 2?   
**Richie:** 2 derry 2 spooky?  
 **Richie:** wait  
 **Richie:** 2 derry 2 scary 👻

 **Eddie Spaghetti:** just answer jackass, I’m in line

 **Richie:** sweet n sour chicken, eggrolls, wonton soup  
 **Richie:** and some fried rice!!

Eddie shows up twenty minutes later. Richie lets him in and immediately hones in on his expression as Eddie unloads their food, talking a mile a minute about his shitty day at work. He learns nothing apart from the fact that Eddie hates Ted in accounting. 

“—and then the dipshit says, ‘I never got your full report, Mr. Kaspbrak, if I had this discrepancy would never have happened.’ Like, fuck right off you yuppie piece of shit. I mean this jagoff _definitely_ has at least three DUIs and does PCP in shitty club bathrooms on the weekends before tuning into fucking Fox News and going to anti-immigrant rallies at the border, and he has the fucking audacity to use the word ‘discrepancy’ like he knows what it means, you know? It’s not a fucking _discrepancy_ , Ted, it’s a huge fucking _error_ because you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing and your daddy got you this job in the first place, worthless fucking leech—”

“So, you’ve been busy all day then, huh?” Richie interrupts when he can’t take it anymore. 

Eddie laid out all the food as he ranted, so Richie gently steers him into a seat and starts opening containers while Eddie catches his breath. 

“Yes, obviously, weren't you listening? This ‘discrepancy’ nearly cost us the account, and it’s a big fucking account, like, thirty percent of our business. I didn’t even get lunch because of this moronic shitstain _.”_

“Ah,” Richie says, breathing a little easier for all of five seconds before he remembers the article still exists, even if Eddie hasn’t seen it. 

Eddie stabs at his food with his chopsticks, using them surprisingly well considering how angry he still is. Richie pours them both a drink and listens as Eddie gets it all out of his system, prodding at Eddie to remind him to actually eat between sentences. 

He finishes his food and leans back in his chair, pulling out his phone under the table surreptitiously. Eddie doesn’t notice, lost in another story about the customer in front of him at the Chinese place that ordered “everything on the fucking menu and held up the line for fifteen fucking minutes.”

 **Richie:** yeah sooo. he hasn’t seen it.

 **Stan the Man:**?? Seriously?

 **Richie:** yeah guess i overestimated how often he looks at social media?? guess he doesn't have a google alert set for his name  
 **Richie:** i mean he didnt know what thirst tweets were idk why im surprised  
 **Richie:** wait do u guys have google alerts for ur name?

 **Stan the Man:** Focus

 **Bevvie:** omg. do you think he’ll see it tonight?  
 **Bevvie:** Stan didn’t you say he was texting you about having a bad day?

 **Stan the Man:** Yeah there’s some accountant there he really hates. He asked if I’d be willing to relocate to LA to replace him if Eddie killed him. 

**Richie:** and???? what did you SAY??

 **Big Bill:** Lets stay on track people

 **Richie:** fine but we are revisiting this topic soon stanny  
 **Richie:** yeah he got off work super late, probably didnt check his phone until he left 

**Mikey:** Are you going to tell him about it?

 **Richie:** NO???   
**Richie:** the whole point of doing it this way was so i wouldnt have to look at his face  
 **Richie:** act like you know me at all, please

 **Haystack:** You should tell him Rich  
 **Haystack:** Otherwise what was the point?

 **Stan the Man:** Also, the clock is ticking, and I’m so close to winning $100 please hurry it up

 **Richie:** wait  
 **Richie:** were you BETTING ON ME???

 **Stan the Man:** On both of you, technically.  
 **Stan the Man:** Bill and Mike already lost $50 at the wedding

 **Mikey:** :(

 **Richie:** unbelievable  
 **Richie:** betting on my tragic love life

 **Stan the Man:** It’s not fucking tragic you two are just morons  
 **Stan the Man:** Patty is reading over my shoulder and she agrees

 **Richie:** you are no longer stan the man in my phone  
 **Richie:** hope that teaches u a lesson

 **Stan the Betrayer:** 🙄

 **Big Bill:** So. Eddie?

 **Bevvie:** ok that’s it I’m just sending it to Eddie

 **Richie:** WAIT  
 **Richie:** BEV NO

 **Bevvie:** done

“Who are you texting so much over there?” Eddie asks, taking a swig of his beer and setting his chopsticks down. 

Eddie’s phone pings and Richie jumps, looking at it lying innocently on the table like it’s a bomb. 

“Is it the groupchat?” Eddie continues, oblivious to Richie’s horror. He grabs and unlocks his phone and smiles down at the screen.

“Uh, wait, Eds—” 

“Oh it's from Bev,” Eddie says happily. 

“Eddie, wait, let me just—” 

Eddie holds the phone out of Richie’s reach, and it’s clear from the look on his face that he’s opened the link from Bev. Richie has no choice but to sit and watch, dread pressing heavy on his windpipe as Eddie reads the interview right in front of him. 

https://www.advocate.com/people/2017/10/17/richie-tozier-opens-up-childhood-sweetheart-eddie-kaspbrak

**Arts & Entertainment - People**

**Richie Tozier opens up about his childhood sweetheart, Eddie Kaspbrak**

**[IMAGE]**

**By Leslie Burtoch**

**October 17, 2017 11:00 AM EDT**

News of recently out comedian Richie Tozier and his secret boyfriend took the media by storm a few weeks ago, when they were first spotted together at the wedding of fashion designer Beverly Marsh and renowned architect Ben Hanscom. Though neither party have made any official remarks on the relationship, pictures from the wedding that surfaced days later all but confirmed the two were an item. 

It’s not the first time Tozier has taken the world by storm this year. During his comeback tour in late December 2016, he shocked the nation by coming out on stage, and clips from the now iconic set circled the internet for weeks after. One video that spans 1:49 was retweeted over half a million times, in which Tozier announces that he is, quote, “One of the gayest motherf*ckers on the planet. Although I guess I should say fatherf*cker now?”. The clip then goes on to show a surprisingly somber moment from Tozier, where he explains that he’s tired of lying, and wants to be true to himself and his fans for the first time in his career, and to “finally be brave”. 

After the set, Tozier all but disappeared from the spotlight, and thousands of fans speculated on his mental health after such a vulnerable performance, as well as his relationship status. The curiosity didn’t die down during Tozier’s absence, as evidenced by the internet’s response to Tozier’s resurgence in the news, and the hints that he was dating a childhood friend with whom he’d recently rekindled a friendship. (Along with other big names such as  Marsh, Hanscom, and  William Denbrough.  More on those friendships here.)

Today I sat down with Mr. Tozier, who insists on being called Richie, for an in-depth interview on his relationship with Eddie Kaspbrak. Full transcript of the interview below. 

**Leslie Burtoch:** Mr. Tozier, thank you so much for sitting down with me today.

 **Richie Tozier:** Oh my god, please, call me Richie. My dad is still alive and kicking, he’s the only Mr. Tozier I know. 

**LB:** Alright, Richie, thank you for sitting down with me. 

**RT:** Yep. Pleasure. 

**LB** : So I wanted to start with how you’ve been doing since your tour. We haven’t seen you on the road or in any films since December, have you been doing alright?

 **RT:** Oh man, loaded question. [Laughter] I’ve been okay, actually. I know it’s already been reported on, so I may as well talk about it. I reconnected with some old friends back in September 2016, some of them — no, all of them more famous and talented than me. [Laughter] The seven of us, we… we had an incredible bond as kids, kind of the result of some shared trauma that I don’t want to get into, but seeing each other after so long kind of… inspired something in me, you could say? I realized how f*cking — sh*t, sorry, can I swear?

 **LB:** Yeah it’s fine, no worries. 

**RT:** Okay. Yeah, so, I realized how tired I was of lying, to myself and to everyone in my life. I was tired of telling jokes that weren’t mine, keeping up this public image of a womanizer, or whatever, when the truth is I’ve only ever kissed one woman in my life. It had gone on way too long, and after being with them again, I realized I couldn’t do it for one more f*cking second. 

**LB:** I have to say, as unorthodox as it was, your speech was inspirational. [Laughter] Did anyone in particular inspire you?

 **RT:** Ah, there it is, dangling the carrot now. [Laughter] Uh, yeah, there was. Like I said, all of my friends inspired me, but I do have to say that… Eddie was the main one. 

**LB:** How did he inspire you?

 **RT:** [Pause] Eddie is… okay, here’s the thing about Eddie. Eddie is an absolute little sh*thead. [Laughter] And I mean that in the most loving way possible. Eddie doesn’t take sh*t from anyone, including me. _Especially_ me. He’s an absolute firecracker, and he yells at me almost everyday, but he’s also… he’s the bravest person I know. Hands down. He’s also incredibly caring and stupid thoughtful. Like, if you have a peanut allergy, Eddie will carry an Epi-pen with him at all f*cking times. Even if you already have one yourself, he’ll make sure he has everything he needs to take— to take care of you. He used to wear a f*cking fanny pack with medicine and bandaids and sh*t when we were little. One of his many nicknames was Dr. K.

 **LB:** He sounds very special. 

**RT:** Yes, very special. Never met anyone like him in my whole life, and I don’t think I ever will. 

**LB:** The internet has taken a very special interest in your relationship with Eddie, though until now you’ve been quiet about it. They call you childhood sweethearts, would you say that’s accurate?

 **RT:** Accurate? No, not really. I mean, if you ask our friends, they might try and say we’ve been together since we were ten years old, but we weren’t, of course, we were just kids. And we weren’t together in high school, or anything. But… that’s how long I’ve. [Pause] How long I’ve been in love with him. I wasn’t exactly subtle about it. But they’ll tell you we’ve bickered like an old married couple since the day we met. 

**LB:** So when did you become actual sweethearts, then?

 **RT:** [Laughter] That’s… hard to answer. In a way, if we’re being super technical here, I've still never officially asked him out. 

**LB:** But you’re together? He knows how you feel, and it’s obviously reciprocated based on these photos?

 **RT:** [Laughter] Again, kind of difficult to answer. I’ve been telling him since day one how cute I thought he was, for example. He just always thought I was full of shit, until one day, I just… wasn’t, and he knew it. Or at least, I think he knew it, but then… well, I won’t bore you with the details, but it got a little messy. 

**LB:** I see. So, why do this interview now? 

**RT:** I guess… I wanted him to know, without a doubt. How I feel. [Pause] I’ve loved him for so long, and I just had to let him know that it’s not just bullsh*t. It’s not just me running my trashmouth. I’m stupidly in love with him, and I always have been. There’s never been anyone else. And what better way to tell him than with a big grand gesture, right? That’s what the movies tell me anyway.

 **LB:** It’s very romantic, Richie. It seems like you two are a great match. 

**RT:** I think so too. 

**LB:** Any chance we could get him in here, maybe do a joint interview?

 **RT:** [Laughter] No, no way. I already feel terrible for bringing him into this fame bullsh*t. He might kill me just for doing this one. 

**LB:** Well if he doesn’t, you’re welcome back any time. Thank you so much Richie, and good luck to both of you. 

**RT:** Thanks Les. 

For more info on Richie Tozier, including his highly anticipated Netflix special coming later this fall, click here. 

**Tags:** **People** **,** **Arts & Entertainment** **,** **Comedy** **,** **Richie Tozier**

  
  
  


“Eds?” 

Eddie’s been silent for five minutes, staring at his phone, so fucking still it’s eerie. Richie can’t even catalogue what he feels, every nerve ending in his body so overwhelmed with panic that his brain is essentially just TV static. 

When Eddie finally looks up, expression masked and unreadable, Richie realizes he’s snapped his chopsticks into splinters. He drops them, and the ensuing clatter against the plate is the only sound in the room. 

“Was this Rob’s idea?” Eddie asks, voice soft and carefully emotionless. Richie’s heart sinks. 

“No— shit, Eddie, no, I fired Rob,” Richie explains. Eddie’s eyebrows twitch, but he remains otherwise neutral. “No, I did this on my own, I— I wanted to tell you the truth. I meant every word.” 

Eddie’s stony facade cracks, and he releases a harsh breath. He covers his face with his hands, elbows on the table, breathing shakily while Richie watches. 

“Eddie… uh, I don’t know what— are you mad?” 

“You fucking moron,” Eddie gasps. When he pulls his hands away from his face there are tears shining in his eyes. “You fucking _moron._ ” 

He’s up in an instant, coming around the table and throwing a leg over Richie’s lap. His mouth is on Richie’s before he’s even fully seated in his lap, kissing him hard and insistent, lips dragging furiously over Richie’s. The static in his brain goes fuzzier, and every coherent thought or bodily function that’s not solely responsible for kissing Eddie back flies out the window. Richie’s arms wrap around his waist, his hands fist in Eddie’s shirt. Eddie presses closer, nearly tipping the chair over in his urgency to get closer, and it makes Richie’s head spin. 

“You’re so fucking stupid,” Eddie pants against his mouth when they break apart to breathe. “You’re so dumb.” 

“Not disagreeing with you Eddie baby, but if you could elaborate—” 

Eddie groans, head dropping to Richie’s shoulder. “Don’t call me baby right now, I’ll fucking lose it Rich.” 

And if that doesn’t give Richie’s dick the final push it needs, nothing will. Eddie must feel it because he groans again and grinds forward; Richie throws his head back and chokes on a moan. 

“God, Eddie, you’ll kill me,” Richie manages, twitching when Eddie latches onto his exposed neck. 

Eddie hums in response, biting and sucking until Richie’s a fucking mess, fingers tentatively searching at the hem of Eddie’s dress shirt. Eddie grinds in his lap again and Richie takes it as permission to untuck it all the way, work his hand underneath until he has handfuls of Eddie’s skin all to himself. Eddie finds a spot at the hinge of Richie’s jaw that makes his brain melt out of his ears, so hard he might actually die from it. 

“Okay, I gotta— Eds, I’m gonna fucking blow in like, five seconds, so if you wanna talk first—” 

“Why would I wanna talk?” Eddie responds, going back to his task with the single-minded purpose of taking Richie apart. 

“Because— I’m a moron, remember, and I’d just, _Jesus fuck,_ love to know your thoughts on that.” 

Eddie lifts his head then, looking every bit a wreck as he did when he first kissed Richie weeks ago, and it takes his fucking breath away the same as it did then. 

“My thoughts? I thought this made my thoughts pretty fucking clear, Rich,” Eddie says with a soft laugh, hand skating over the mark he’s made on Richie’s neck. 

Richie skims Eddie’s bare sides, noting how Eddie’s eyes flutter just a little from the touch. Eddie dips his head to kiss Richie again, softer this time, biting gently at his bottom lip. 

“Right, no you made your point, uh, really well,” Richie says, breath ghosting Eddie’s mouth, and why the _fuck_ can’t he ever stop talking? “It’s just… just to be clear… this is, like. This is really happening?” 

Eddie pulls back just far enough to look Richie in the eye. Richie holds his gaze, dark and half lidded. 

“Yeah, it’s real Rich,” Eddie says softly. “Unless you’ve got a fucking hidden camera somewhere. And if there is, I am murdering you right here in this chair.” 

“I’m not that stupid, Eds,” Richie says, smiling into the next kiss. 

“Yes you are,” Eddie disagrees, and Richie catches his laugh with his mouth. “But so am I. We’re both so dumb.” 

“Wait,” Richie says, holding Eddie still with a hand on his neck. “Do you hear that?” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“Listen close… it sounds like… Stan? Screaming in agony? I think you broke him, Eddie.” 

“Oh my god,” Eddie laughs, swatting at Richie’s shoulder. “Do _not_ say Stan’s name when we’re making out.” 

“Of course,” Richie says, tilting Eddie’s neck so he can kiss his Adam’s apple, making his way slowly up to his jaw. “Whatever you say, baby.” 

“God, Rich,” Eddie moans, writhing in Richie’s arms. 

They kiss until Eddie is pulling at Richie’s shirt, tugging it over his head and attaching his lips to Richie’s collarbone greedily. Richie gets Eddie’s off in short order, sucking in a gasp when he sees Eddie’s scar, the first time he’s seen it since the hospital. Eddie watches him for a long moment, uncertainty in his eyes, until Richie leans forward and presses his lips to it, runs his tongue along the uneven skin, sucking a bruise just above it over Eddie’s heart. Eddie tangles his hands in Richie’s hair, and there are tears in his eyes when Richie finally looks up at him. 

“I meant it,” Richie says, running his fingers over the scar on his back, thicker than the one on his chest. Eddie arches into it, and Richie kisses over his chest again, focusing on a nipple when brushing his lips over one makes Eddie moan. 

“I meant it, Eds,” Richie repeats. “I love you so fucking much. You really have ruined me for anyone else.”

“Richie,” Eddie breathes, pressing his lips to Richie’s hair when he returns his attention to Eddie’s chest, peppering kisses along his collarbone, down his scar, across his ribs. “Rich…” 

“Love you,” Richie murmurs, sealing the words in Eddie’s skin with his tongue. 

“I want to touch you,” Eddie says, breathless. “Rich, I want to—”  
  
“Anything,” Richie says, and Eddie kisses him so hard he sees stars.

Eddie works Richie’s jeans open, and Richie lifts up enough to push them down to his knees. Eddie’s fingers caress over Richie’s stomach before his hand dips below Richie’s boxers, and then his hand is on his dick and Richie nearly flies off the chair. 

“Oh fuck, Eddie,” Richie groans just as Eddie starts to jerk him in earnest, gathering the precome from the tip to ease the slide, and then it’s fucking perfect. 

“I can’t believe this,” Eddie murmurs, forehead pressed against Richie’s. 

When Richie manages to open his eyes he sees that Eddie’s are focused on Richie’s dick, watching what his hand is doing, and that alone is nearly enough to send him over the edge. 

“Me neither,” Richie answers, tilting his head to kiss him, all open mouthed and sloppy because he can’t control the noises he’s making, finds he doesn’t even want to. 

“No, I mean I can’t believe all your big dick jokes were true,” Eddie says petulantly. “I mean Jesus Christ Rich, I’m so mad right now.” 

Richie laughs, buries his head in Eddie’s shoulder just as Eddie twists his hand just right and the laugh turns into a moan, loud and more fucking wanton than he’s ever been in his life. “Oh god, baby, I wanna make a joke right now but I literally forgot how, oh my god, _Eds—_ ”

“Bad call telling me that Rich, now I know how to turn you off,” Eddie says, laughter in his voice. Richie’s so fucking happy he could cry. 

“Oh the joke, it’s right there, you left it wide open but I can’t— _fuck,_ like that Eddie, god—” 

Eddie kisses him, and he loses all train of thought after that. It doesn’t take long, Eddie whispering filth in his ear, telling him how good he feels and looks. Just a few strokes and then he's coming hard with Eddie sucking on his tongue, his free hand on Richie’s face, thumbing softly under his eye. 

“Oh god, Eddie baby, I love you, fuck, I love you so much...”  
  
Eddie gives him a minute to catch his breath, clean hand sliding along his neck, tangling in his hair. Richie kisses him and kisses him until Eddie starts to squirm in his lap again, looking for any kind of friction, dick pressing against Richie’s stomach through his pants. 

“You’re gonna get jizz on your work pants,” Richie says stupidly, holding Eddie still with his hands on his hips. Eddie jerks against him and kisses him, clearly too fucked out to care. 

“It’ll— it'll wash out,” Eddie gasps. “Fucking touch me, Richie, please.” 

“Yeah, baby, anything,” Richie says, hands making quick work of Eddie’s fly. 

Eddie stands so they can get his pants all the way off, the tight slack material not as forgiving as jeans in his position, and Richie pulls down his boxers too and then there he is. Eddie Kaspbrak, naked and hard in his kitchen, straight out of one of his dirtiest wet dreams. 

“God, Eddie,” Richie groans, holding Eddie at bay when he tries to climb back into Richie’s lap. “If you even knew how much I thought about this…” 

His thumbs circle and press hard into Eddie’s hip bones, and Eddie chokes on a moan. 

“Me too, Rich,” Eddie says, and Richie’s eyes fly up to his. “God, your fucking hands…” 

He steps closer, between the V of Richie’s legs, and Richie wastes no time. He buries his face in Eddie’s chest again, making his way from the edge of his scar down his stomach, literally licking Eddie’s abs in the way he’s dreamed of for months, tasting some of himself on Eddie’s skin. Eddie’s muscles jump under his mouth and he’s breathing hard in Richie’s ear, hands moving and tugging impatiently in Richie’s hair. 

“Richie, fuck, please,” Eddie whines when Richie’s hands reach around to pull Eddie closer with two handfuls off his ass. 

He sucks one more bruise into Eddie’s left hip before he takes pity and, without warning, licks a stripe up Eddie’s cock. 

“Oh _fuck,_ ” Eddie cries, jerking in Richie’s grip.

“This okay?” Richie asks, voice already husky even though he hasn’t even started yet. 

“Yes, god, if you stop now I’ll kill you Richie,” Eddie says desperately, and Richie grins. 

He licks another stripe up from root to tip before fully taking him in his mouth. It’s been awhile since he’s done this, and there’s not much finesse in his technique, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He bobs his head, using his hand for what his mouth can’t reach, and tries to figure out what makes Eddie’s hands tighten in his hair, what makes him thrust and moan Richie’s name, lost in the heavy feeling of Eddie on his tongue. 

“Richie, Rich, fuck, I’ve never— oh _fuck_ ,” Eddie gasps, legs shaking from the effort to keep himself upright while Richie takes him apart. His free hand roams the small of Eddie’s back, his ass, kneading and pawing and urging Eddie closer. He can feel it when Eddie gets close, can hear it in the desperate way he moans Richie’s name. 

“Rich, wait, stop,” Eddie says suddenly, tugging gently on his hair. Richie pulls off and looks up, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the look on Eddie’s face, eyes dark and lustful, lips red from Richie’s mouth. Eddie inhales sharply, obviously just as affected by seeing Richie like this. His eyes widen, and his thumb traces over Richie’s bottom lip. Richie closes his mouth around it without thinking.

“What is it baby?” Richie asks, voice now properly raspy, grinning when Eddie’s dick jerks in his hand. 

“Asshole,” Eddie murmurs, pulling Richie’s face up to kiss him and collapsing back in his lap in the same motion. “I want to kiss you when I come.” 

“Aw, Eds,” Richie says softly. His hand closes around Eddie again and makes his eyes flutter beautifully. He wraps his other arm around Eddie’s waist until they’re as flush as they can be with Richie’s hand between them. “That’s so fucking sweet.” 

“Guess love turns me into a big sap,” Eddie says with a laugh, pulling him in by the jaw for a kiss. 

Richie stops; Eddie whines against his mouth, bites Richie’s lip in protest, but he’s frozen, because Eddie just said—

“Did you say love?” Richie asks quietly, heart thudding in his ears. 

Eddie gets it then. He smiles, cups Richie’s face in his hands and kisses him, more softly than he has all night. 

“Yeah, dumbass. I did.” 

“You—” 

“I love you.” 

Richie chokes, moves to hide his face but Eddie doesn’t let him, holding firm and thumbing over his cheekbones. He kisses Richie’s mouth, his cheeks, his nose, gentle and slow while Richie collects himself. 

“I love you,” Eddie repeats, kissing away the tear that’s escaped Richie’s eye. 

“I love you,” Richie says. “God, so much, Eds.” 

Eddie kisses him harder, filthier, and Richie gets back with the program, jerking Eddie off with purpose, babbling nonsense into his mouth. 

“Love you baby, want you to feel good, will you come for me? I want to see it, come for me Eddie, I need to see you—“ 

Eddie moans brokenly in Richie’s mouth, hips thrusting up to fuck into Richie’s fist, and then he comes with a choked off shout, panting through it with his forehead pressed to Richie’s. 

Richie holds him as he comes down, wrapping his other arm around Eddie’s waist because he needs him closer and he knows Eddie’s gonna make them shower anyway. Eddie doesn’t complain; he winds his around Richie’s neck and catches his breath, chests pressed together so Richie can feel their hearts beat together, and he loves him so _fucking_ much. 

“I know you’re going to be disgusted in about thirty seconds, so I just want to say that I love you again before that happens and you shove me off,” Richie murmurs in his ear. 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, soft and breathless and the only thing Richie wants to hear for the rest of his life. “I love you too Rich. So much that I fucked you for the first time in your kitchen. Where you _eat._ ”

“I can't wait to eat all kinds of things in this kitchen with you,” Richie teases. Eddie leans back so that Richie can see his eye roll along with the blush on his cheeks, and he can’t help but lean in to kiss him again and again and again. 

“Come on. Shower,” Eddie says after a few minutes of lazy kissing, tapping Richie’s waist and tugging him up. 

“Uh, wait, I should probably check the groupchat, I kinda left them hanging.” 

“You’re in a groupchat _without me_?” Eddie asks, scandalized, but he hands Richie his phone from where it fell on the floor in his horny haste. “Ugh, use your clean hand please.” 

Richie snorts and unlocks his phone to find exactly five unread messages. 

**Bevvie:** what, Rich?? why not??

 **Haystack:** Richie, you okay?

 **Big Bill:** Should we like, call? Make sure he’s okay? It’s been twenty minutes…

 **Stan the Betrayer:** I wouldn’t.   
**Stan the Betrayer:** And someone owes me money. 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> some notes: 
> 
> -this is one of the tropiest things ive ever written, but it was so much fun so thank u for sticking around and reading :)  
> -i'd vaguely planned the article and stan's bet and such since early in the fic but i'd be lying if i didn't say i was inspired by many of the incredible social media aus on twitter for some of the text conversations and formatting, so if you're one of the authors of those, you're amazing and thank u for your service  
> -sorry to just like, end it after the sex scene?? it just felt right to end it there.  
> -also sorry again for the dumb dirty dancing scene. it just sort of happened and then i was like, this is weird what are you even doing, but i just couldn't delete it because the mental image was just too good idk  
> -this goes for all my fics, but if you are at all inspired to make anything based off this fic, consider this open permission to do so, just please send to me if you do, whether it be art, a playlist, podfic, anything i would LOVE to see it. <3  
> -i know i said last time to snipe me if i posted anything before my big bang but guess what that's DONE and also they pushed posting to june so i'll see y'all then :)
> 
> i hope everyone is staying safe and your friends and family are all healthy and you're hanging in there. take care of yourselves and thank you for reading, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/edskaspbraking) or [tumblr](https://hyruling.tumblr.com/)! <3


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